Canoe Trip - Fall 2012 - Part ll

DAY TWO – Sunday September 30, 2012 – 10.5 miles

I woke in the morning to hear Clayton getting dressed. It had cooled off overnight and I lay in my warm sleeping back for a little while longer, then got dressed and packed up the inside of the tent (stuffing sleeping bags into their pouches and deflating and rolling up our air-mattresses. Clayton already had the stove going to make coffee. I joined him as he was pumping water to make milk for the coffee and the oatmeal. I told him to make just enough for the oatmeal and when he asked why I surprised him with a small bottle of Sangster’s Rum Cream I’d filled the previous morning before we left the city. We had some coffee, which tasted quite luxurious compared to our usual camp coffee, started the oatmeal, and while it sat cooling took down the tent and packed it up. We sat sharing the oatmeal in comfortable silence. There were some geese on the lake and Clayton thought he spotted some gulls down the lake with his binoculars. After breakfast we quickly washed up the dishes and packed the bags. The canoe was easily loaded up and we were on the lake by 10:00 and started our day-two paddle.

The previous evening we’d noticed another point of land about half a mile away that looked like it might be a possible campsite. We decided since it was on our way that we’d check it out in case we ever decided to come back this way. The point could definitely hold a tent but the area wasn’t as big or as flat as where we had camped.

As we made our way to the portage the white things that Clayton thought were gulls we found were actually buoys (bleach bottles) tied down marking low water and rocky areas. We remembered that we didn’t have a bailer (oops!) and saw that one of the markers was actually two bottles tied together. We “borrowed” one of the two bottles to make a bailer for our canoe. J Two minutes later we were at the portage. This one was very short and we were able to take the heavier items down in one trip and just pick up the canoe with the rest of the gear for the second trip. It was amazing to see how many fishing boats and motors were stored at these points –money just sitting there. We also saw the skeletal remains of an old wooden boat from many days gone by.

The next lake, Violet Lake, was very pretty with all the fall colours. Our route led us down into a narrows and our map indicated that there were rapids at this point. We approached it and all we could see were rocks due to the low water. Thinking there might be an alternate route that wouldn’t involve portaging we paddled into an adjacent bay. Nothing. So we went back, prepared to portage the canoe over the rocks. To our surprise and delight we found that there was a small winding channel connecting the two narrow parts of the lake and we were able to pull the canoe through using our paddles and moving slowly. There was another narrows a ways up but it was a lot wider and deeper and we had no problem just paddling through, keeping an eye out for rocks.

Just before we headed into Eagle Lake’s Trout Hole 2 we stopped for a bite to eat on a sunny shore.

Heading into the lake it began to get windier and choppier. Unfortunately the wind was against us (isn’t that usually the case?) We had to dig deep and just paddle to get through the next section. There was little talking as we concentrated on getting to the lee parts of islands and points coming up.

As we rounded the last point I could see the creek opening where it spilled into Eagle from Teggau Lake. I had been looking forward to this part of the canoe trip, and introducing Clayton to an amazing, beautiful lake bordered by towering red and white pines and sheer rock faces. As we made our way up the slow flowing creek it didn’t look quite like I had remembered. The fire that had come through a few years back was more extensive than it looked. The entire portage on both sides was full of burned and charred tree trunks. The last time I’d paddled up that creek it was almost like paddling into a dark tunnel of forest rising up on both sides. I felt completely exposed this time.

The creek was much lower than the last time I was there, and I just attributed this to the low lake levels we’d seen elsewhere on our trip. But as we rounded one corner of the creek we could see what looked like the water line at eye level. As we got closer we could see a beaver had built a dam right across the creek. Since it wasn’t very high, and beavers build sturdy and robust dams, we were able to paddle up to it, step onto the dam and pull the canoe up and over – even fully loaded with gear. Above the dam the creek was as high as I’ve ever seen it but it was still flowing slower than normal. The water here was also unnaturally clear. Eagle Lake is usually kind of murky and you can’t see much beyond three feet down. The creek was nearly crystal clear and we could see every blade of grass and beaver-chewed stick that lay on the bottom.

We arrived at the bottom of the portage hopeful that the fire hadn’t made its way much further but as we walked the trail to Teggau it was apparent the fire had burned right up into the surrounding forest. Putting in and then paddling up through the narrows before the main lake was sad. Fire had ravaged most of the shorelines and as far back as you could see to the south. The north face had fared a little better, but this was the side with the sheer rock cliffs and we couldn’t see over them. I pointed out one potential campsite I had used years before but it was pretty much decimated from the fire. We decided to keep going to option number two, at the mouth of the narrows across from the rock cliffs, normally a spectacular view. This was no better and in fact was worse. The entire south-eastern shore looked like a post-apocalyptic world, devoid of trees or any other greenery. To make matters even more difficult the south wind was pushing the water into the rock face and it was bouncing back making the waves unpredictable and not unlike being in a washing machine. We pulled the canoe up as soon as we could and scouted out anywhere that may be used for a campsite. It was quickly evident that we were not going to find anything suitable on the big lake so we carefully made our way back to the narrows and into calmer waters.

We checked out each small bay and finally ended up back at option one. As far as campsites went it was technically ideal, with a large flat area on which to set up the tent, a flat rocky area to cook dinner and a fire pit already made. Aesthetically it was a barren and charred moonscape, but it would have to do. It was going on 4:00 and we didn’t have time to portage back down and search for another spot. So we set up the tent and then sat on the sunny rocks and read and journalled for a little while. I looked over at one point to see my husband fast asleep on the rock.  Once again we had a quick dip and air-dried before getting dressed and starting dinner over a glass of wine. We cooked up some pasta with herb&garlic sauce and a freeze-dried Hawaiian chicken with pineapple rice. The dehydrated meals are light-weight, water-proof and actually quite tasty. They have come a long way. The one thing I really missed, especially when setting up camp, and there’s no reason we couldn’t have brought some along, is beer. A couple of six packs wouldn’t have added much weight, and it would have been cooled quite nicely in the fall waters. Next time!

After dinner I checked to see if we had any cell service and once more was totally surprised to find one bar although I did have to walk around a bit to find it. I reassured Mom again that we were safe and enjoying ourselves immensely. Then Clay foraged for wood and got a blazing fire going while I struggled to get a line over an old tree so we could hang our food bags.

We had another night with a clear sky and full moon. It rose over the ridge behind our tent, silhouetting the skeletal remains of burnt pines. It was so bright and beautiful and lit up our entire little bay. I lay down on the rock to enjoy the night sky and watched the moon illuminate a thin band of clouds that were drifting by overhead. They seemed to move very quickly, which was odd because there was nary a breeze in our bay that evening. I realized it wasn’t clouds that were moving but the Northern Lights. I have seen some spectacular displays of northern lights before but usually in the winter on a clear and cold -35 degree night. But I’ve rarely seen then so vibrant and active. The lights were skipping across the night sky, changing colours as fast as I could name them and radiating out in all directions from a central point in the sky like a massive multi-pointed star. It was truly amazing to watch.

 

The weather up to this point had cooperated wonderfully. I went to sleep hoping the trend would continue.

Canoe Trip - Fall 2012 - Part 1

Hey folks in blog-land...Remember me? Ah...probably not - I've been noticeably absent these last6 months...It's not that I haven't had anything to write, I've just been busy and chose to abandon the blog for a while. I can't promise that it won't happen again...and I thank those of you who still check in from time to time.

The next few posts detail a canoe trip my husband and I took this past fall. It was the longest paddling trip I've been on and when I feel stressed at work, or frustrated by life I return to this trip in my mind and am instantly calmed. Read on and you'll see why...

DAY ONE – Saturday September 29, 2012 – 9.3 miles

We arrived at Mom and Dad’s with the news that we were going to head off that afternoon. The original plan was to leave on Sunday but the weather forecast was calling for cooler temperatures and the possibility of rain into Tuesday and Wednesday. Saturday was blistering hot (for September) and Eagle Lake was pristine like glass, a rarity in the fall. Our revised plan had us leave from Mom and Dad’s and head backward along our planned route. The reason being we would get the “big lake” paddle out of the way. Eagle can be unpredictable and since it is quite open in spots it can get pretty rough and dangerous when the wind kicks up.

So we left the dock at 2:00 and began our adventure.

The first couple of hours went quickly and we made good time across Eagle. Our map was good but we still had a couple of “where are we?” moments as we tried to decipher the lay of the land – the islands looking like mainland upon first glance until we paddled a bit more and saw them from different angles.



 

Our first destination was Walleye Lake. Dad had suggested we head into the smaller lakes for a couple of reasons. They would be more remote so a lesser chance of seeing other boats (most boats on Eagle are those of the motorized variety), and to avoid the big lake and having to paddle through the larger bays which get very choppy. We found the portage easily and began the trek to transfer gear from one end to the other. I had taken off my shoes and socks when we hit shore as it was quite muddy. The water was quite low this year and the bay in which the portage was located was shallow. Clayton and I sank to our ankles as we pulled the canoe up to the shore. I grabbed the first load and headed up the trail barefoot (Bob would have been proudJ). The path was soft and mossy and covered with leaves making for a refreshing walk up to the next lake. I dropped our gear next to a couple of boats (and a gas can0 that had been left on the lake by one of the local tourist outfitters for fishing. I met Clayton on the way back with his load of stuff. We returned for a second trip, me with the remaining gear and Clayton with the canoe. It took a couple tries to figure out the canoe but after using one of our inflatable pillows to cushion his bony shoulders from the hard wooden yoke he was able to carry the canoe up the portage. It is balanced quite nicely and since it doesn’t weigh very much (relatively speaking) once it’s on the shoulders it’s just a matter of watching where you step.

We got up into Walleye Lake and loaded the canoe again and set off to find a campsite for the night. Dad had pointed out some islands that he thought might be suitable so we set off in that direction. After circling one island that had no flat areas we spotted a point that had clearly been used for shore lunches. It had a large clear mossy area on which to set up a tent, and was basically a big flat rock. We unloaded the canoe, set up the tent and then took a quick dip in the lake and dried off in the sun before we proceeded to start dinner. It had been a very warm day for September and it was nice to feel refreshed and somewhat clean before bed.

Our sunset (I claimed it as ours because there was no one else on the lake seeing the majesty of Mother Nature) was stunning and we sat staring at it over a glass of wine, unable to look away for fear of missing part of it.

Just before we ate dinner on a lark I turned on my phone. I was surprised to find a signal, a weak one but a signal nonetheless. I dialed Mom and Dad’s number and had a brief chat with her. It was very surreal to be as remote as we were yet still connected to the world. I know Mom appreciated the call, knowing we were safe, because she looked worried that afternoon when we left the dock.

After supper we started a fire (actually Clayton started it) and we sat around the fire passing our flask of Drambuie back and forth a couple times. The moon was rising through the trees behind us – it was large and bright and looked full. (Full moon was actually the following night - September 30^th, 2012) It was a magical night with sunsets and moonrises and soft silence. I said something to Clay and heard an echo, then another. When it got quiet again we called out. This time we heard 5 echoes back and forth across the bay. It was so totally cool!

The night was warm and the tent glowed in the moonlight. I slept on and off and had to get up to go to the bathroom. When I stepped outside the tent I was bathed in moonlight so bright that I had a shadow as sharp as it would have been in sunlight. I stood there staring at the moon, which had come around to shine down on our point. The night was still and I drank in the moment for fear I wouldn’t be able to recall it again.

A Trip Back in Time

~~ For my wonderful and 'forever' friend, "N"~~

Last month I bumped into my best friend from grade 2 while visiting my parents for the Easter Weekend. “N” was back in town visiting family for the weekend as well and when we ran into each other at the local liquor store we let out a school-girl squeal and rushed forward into a bear hug that must have encompassed a few years. We stood back and scrutinized each other – and decided that, yes, we looked exactly the same as we did back in grade 2 ;0). Aside from a brief visit at the Winnipeg Folk Festival about 10 years ago we hadn’t seen each other since University days by which time we had pretty much gone our separate ways – I had moved to a different town after grade 10 and different majors had taken us in different directions -- our paths hadn’t crossed much after that.

Interestingly enough it wasn’t the University years we’d gravitated to, but the first time we met (in grade two) and our very formative early high school years. We began to reminisce while our husbands stood patiently to the side balancing bottles of wine and assorted liquors for our respective suppers that evening. From that point it was a breakneck race to try to catch up on close to 20 years of being apart…

Flash back to 1972…I had been transferred (accidentally) to a different public school on the other side of town. I’m not sure why my parents didn’t correct the change but they let it stand. I was quite nervous about changing schools – especially after three years with my current friends. But a little girl with dark brown braids decided she would be my friend. I have a very distinct memory of riding home one day on the school bus repeating “N”’s phone number over and over in my head so I wouldn’t forget it: 52-18-52-18. I barely remember my own phone number from those days let alone any of my other friends from that era. I’m not sure what it is that bonds young girls of that age but whatever it was we connected early in the year and formed a tie that has remained to this day.

Like most young girls we idolized the older kids. Our object of affection was a grade 6 boy named Graham. We wrote a song about him and I can still remember the melody and lyrics to this day. I’m sure we scarred him for life with our constant fawning.

“N” and I were, in my eyes, inseparable for that year and then inexplicably at the end of the year I was transferred back to my original primary school for grade three onwards. “N” and I spoke on the phone from time to time during the years leading up to high school, but we found little to say since we were no longer in the same school.

Fast forward to high school and we easily picked up where we’d left off. We had our boy-crushes there as well, even going so far as to join the cheerleading squad so we could be near the sports-teams. We decided to take up tennis and went to the local Canadian Tire store to pick up cheap tennis racquets and some balls. My first serve went way long over the fence and out of the tennis courts. The two of us fell down laughing and we realized shortly after that that we weren’t cut out for tennis. We even joined the cross-country running team…for about a week. There wasn’t much we wouldn’t try, at least once.

 We had nick-names for each other, based on the first syllable of our last names. On my birthday one year “N” called and told me to listen to the local radio station. Sure enough shortly after that call I heard the radio announcer wish a “Very Happy Birthday to The Swan from The Pack”. I burst out laughing because he had gotten it totally wrong and I joked later that “The Swan” had a much nicer ring to it.

 “N” and I shared a passion for writing and photography. We would take our Kodak Instamatic cameras out on walks and compose what we thought were magazine worthy photographs of light dappled streams or fields of wind-blown grass. We took many portrait shots as well, of “dreamy girl staring off into the distance” or “pensive girl sitting on a rock lost in thought”. The poems we wrote were angst-ridden and love-lorn or adjective-filled descriptions of nature.

We spent many afternoons using our creativity, making mixed tapes using a tape recorder and a record player, building funky snowmen and experimenting with makeup and costumes but most of all we laughed a LOT. And that is what I remember the most.

We had so much more to say that day in the liquor store. I discovered that she, too, had embraced running and with her husband had decided to try to run 25 half marathons before they were 50. She urged me to do the same…heck I’m only three short and I have a couple years to do it. Maybe one day we can run one together…

We exchanged phone numbers (I didn’t memorize this one) and e-mail addresses and vowed to keep in touch. We each have two teenage boys so I’m sure we will have plenty more to talk about.

Another year in the books – Random Thoughts - 2011

At the end of 2010 I threw out a random list of things that were on my mind – some from the year that had just passed, and other things that were just “on my mind” and were really not worthy of devoting an entire blog to. Since this will be my first blog post of 2012 it will be more reflective on the past year than anything else.

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With each passing year I become more and more comfortable in my own skin and happy to be who I am, at any particular moment. Due to pestering injuries in 2011, I had to take a hiatus from running, but never for one minute thought that just because I wasn’t running, didn’t mean that I wasn’t a runner anymore. Monet will always be an artist, Stephen King will always be an author and I will always be a runner.

In 2011 I learned to embrace substitutes. Because I wasn’t running I needed to do something to keep myself from going bat crazy. My body is used to exercising and sweating and I needed to find an alternative. Ergo, the bike trainer. It was the bane of my existence for the first few months I rode, but in time it became something that I (*gasp*) actually looked forward to during the week. It is in no way a replacement for running, but it does get my heart rate up, and I don’t have to bundle myself up in a zillion layers to go outside to work out. (Which, by the way, is one thing I don’t miss about winter running.) But there are days I both curse and commend Coach Troy for his demonic workouts.

I figured my children would one day be taller than me, but when I saw them starting to tower over me it still came as a shock.

With the new coffee maker my mother-in-law purchased for us I fear I may have become somewhat of a coffee snob. This coffee maker has a bean hopper that you fill every few days and grinds the beans moments before brewing the pot. The stainless steel carafe holds 12 cups and doesn’t require a burner to keep the coffee hot (or continue to “cook” it). It’s funny what you get used to. I don’t think I could give that baby up without a fight! (firstworldproblem)

I have a Twitter account, but I still really don’t get Twitter…

I am almost 2 years closer to 50. That thought doesn’t scare me like I thought it would. Maybe because I still don’t even feel like I’m 40.

I wish I had more time to read…books, blogs, and articles.

That said, I have been listening to audiobooks during my walk to and from work each day. I liken it to being a kid again with a parent reading you a story. Books I have enjoyed include “The Art of Racing in the Rain” by Garth Stein (this had me in tears during my walk home – I hope people didn’t think me depressed), “Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close” by Jonathan Safran Foer (the movie by the way is in theatres) “A Visit From the Goon Squad” by Jennifer Egan (a quirky story that had a plot similar to what we computer programmers call “Spaghetti Code”. Each chapter dealt with a character who was introduced, sometimes in a very minor way, in a previous chapter. It kind of goes back and forth between past and present.), “A Kind of Vanishing” by Lesley Thompson, “The Sign” by Raymond Khoury (this book got my husband and I through 13 hours of driving between Calgary and Winnipeg last summer and made the hours fly by.), and “Hour
Game” by David Baldacci. I’ve toyed with the idea of listening to books when I start running again. I’ll have to get back to you on that depending on how it goes.

I could ramble relentlessly so that’s all I have for now. Hopefully the next blog post will be more worthy. I have a bunch of ideas, just not any that have come to fruition.

How much pain can we take?

When do we say we’ve had enough? Or do we? We are strange creatures we humans.


I was thinking about this the other day as well wishes poured in to a friend’s Facebook page. She’s a kick boxer who’s been actively training this year for her first fight. At the very least it was to be her only first and only fight, but I wondered (myself having trained intensively for 5 marathons and vowing just before each one it was to be my last) if it would be***. For most people just the prospect of going into the ring to fight would illicit feelings of terror, but she was also excited and very much looking forward to the experience. 

We have an amazing ability to block away the pain when an event is exciting or emotionally stimulating. Look at mothers who go through the pain of childbirth again and again. Before having my first child I was petrified. As much as I wanted that child, I was terrified of the pain I knew was coming. But shortly after the birth, while holding my newborn son I could barely remember the hurt. And against everything I would have predicted I remember telling my husband at the time that I could do it again, and did.

During my first marathon, where I pushed through the pain of a ripped-off big toenail for the last six miles, I never would have dreamed I would consider even coming close to wanting to do another. Yet walking away from the finish line, with the heavy medal thumping satisfyingly against my chest I was already planning it.

I think the more enjoyable the experience (or perhaps the final outcome) the more likely you are to block the memory of the pain. I’ve fallen on my mountain bike and ended up bruised, scraped and scarred more often than I’d like to admit. I’ve had to limp out of a trail because I couldn’t ride due to a  particularly bad fall, yet I love being on the bike, and the moment I see those trails I long to get back on the bike and ride, even though falling is a very real and painful conclusion. My husband broke his collarbone riding a couple months back and all he can talk about is getting back on the trails. We must mentally produce some kind of “hurt beta blockers” that only allow us to recall the fun we had.

Lately I’ve been sidelined by heel pain (known among runners as plantar fasciitis). I’m unable to run any decent distance without hurting afterwards. I am trying to be good and give it time to heal properly by stretching, icing, and exercises and most importantly, not running. That last piece is the most difficult. I know if I run, it’s going to hurt, yet the satisfaction I get when running would overshadow any pain experienced…until afterwards. I am resisting, but there are times I’m sorely tempted.

And it doesn’t stop at physical pain. I’ve had my heart broken so many times, once to the point where I didn’t eat for nearly a week because I hurt so much, and still I continued to open myself up to the possibility of falling in love. Because as corny as it sounds, true and honest love is worth it.

Maybe it simply comes down this, “It is always by way of pain one arrives at pleasure.”~Marquis de Sade.

***btw...For what it’s worth my money’s on “no”…;0)

Sometimes I'm Afraid to Blog

The title says it all.

I have a word document on my computer that contains the start of numerous blogs entries and a few finished ones. I just haven’t published them. There are many reasons for this. I’ve had a few not-so-positive experiences with some entries that I had been initially quite proud to post. By nature I am not a controversial person. I avoid confrontation like the plague, probably to my detriment. I know I should stand up for what I believe, but there are times when I just have to stand down and take the easy way out, even if it means not being able to share some of my opinions. I’ve lost a friendship because one person mistakenly thought I was writing about them and took personal offense to the post in question. At the time I had no idea that the snarky comments and then ignored emails had anything to do with what I had written. By the time he finally said something (via email) about it it was too late to mend what was left because he had made it very clear that he had made up his mind.

 This saddened me, and made me begin to re-think everything I posted. It is exhausting when you have to examine everything you write and then go back over it with a fine-tooth comb and question whether one of your readers could misconstrue what you wrote. I sometime go for weeks between postings because I am just too lazy to cleanse my entries. It defeats what I initially thought was one of the purposes of blogging.

I have many friends who also blog and I am guilty at times of reading more into what they have written. But I give them the benefit of the doubt, and recognize that their opinions are just that, opinions.

 I began to write fluffy, reflective posts that told a heartwarming stories, or reviews on places I’ve travelled to, or race reports. But a part of me resented having to compromise what I really enjoyed writing.

 I debated starting up an anonymous blog so I could write unfettered. I may still do that.

 So if I haven’t posted for a few weeks it’s not because I’m not writing. I am…I’m just sorry that you won’t be able to see half of it.

What keeps me young…

I’ve had people tell me that I don’t look my age, which in itself is quite flattering. Aside from the good genes I was fortunate enough to inherit (my mother looks amazing) I think the reason is because I refuse to age. At least on the inside. My inner age is closer to 23 than my real age (which is nowhere near 23).

The secret? I try to surround myself with youth. I have two teenage boys and I don’t hesitate to climb a tree with them or pull out a nerf gun for an all-out battle. Keeping up with them keeps off the years. I work in a college, and the majority of the students I see on a daily basis are under 25, most are under 20. Listening to them talk and hearing what they talk about keeps me in the loop when it comes to current trends in music and movies.

I participate in “fun” activities – some physical, some not, but most keep me smiling. There’s nothing like bar-hopping around the downtown wearing a red dress with 25 of my closest drinking club buddies, or hitting some scenic single track mountain bike trails with friends, or just running barefoot down the street and enjoying the looks I get (even now with the minimalist trend taking off like it has).

I embrace physical activity…I run, I bike, I swim, I walk, I ski, I stretch, I lift weights, I hula-hoop and I can tell when I need to do one of these to keep myself sane.

I love to play and challenge my brain daily…with board games, crossword puzzles, Wii and computer games.

I also like to learn constantly. The more I learn, the more I want to learn.

And most of all I love to laugh (at silly cards in the stationary store, at sit-coms on television, with my kids when they start speaking in crazy voices and with my husband who somehow has the uncanny ability to make me chuckle with two or three words) and I love to surround myself with people who make me laugh.

Even if I can’t stay young forever, I can certainly do the most to feel that way.