ROTARY CANOE TRIP 1999
FROM GOWGANDA TO MATATCHEWAN
NORTHERN ONTARIO, CANADA
PADDLE YOUR OWN CANOE
by
Sarah K. Bolton
Voyager upon life’s sea,
To yourself be true;
And where’er your lot may be,
Paddle your own canoe.
Never, though the winds may rave,
Falter nor look back,
But upon the darkest wave
Leave a shining track.
With these thoughts in mind, the international fellowship of canoeing Rotarians set out from Kirkland Lake, the rendezvous location, to be sure that yours truly was on time. (It is a proverbial joke that doctors are always late, and I am no exception it seems when it comes to getting on the water). We had Chip Honsinger, a Rotarian who was one of the founders of this fellowship and had been on the first canoe trip in the boundary area between Canada and the United States and who had flown up from Virginia to join us, Dr. Doug Thompson, and Norm Bird in another canoe, Bert And Steve Chandler, in another canoe, and Ross Ventrcek , all Rotarians from the Stratford club in Southern Ontario, and myself from the Kirkland Lake Rotary club. My son Timothy, 13 years old, paddled his kayak for the first long trip for him. My friends Jay Collins came with his home made beautiful cedar canoe for Ross to enjoy, and Marlene and Jim Finora paddled their canoe. We set out after a good breakfast with canoes lashed to pickup truck, trailer and vans, and made the two hour trip over back roads with the aid of Ross’s daughter and son in law driving the "delivery vans" to the start at Wapus Creek.
With sun shining, we took the prerequisite photos of the group, and then burdened down our canoes with provisions for the 64 km trip over 2 ½ days. It started out wonderfully, paddles dipping in the warm summer waters as we made our way to the Upper Notch Dam barrage and the West Montreal River. We followed the laminated top maps that Ross had made for each canoe. But even with compass in hand, and following a river, exact location was sometimes difficult to pin point. We either thought that we were ahead, or behind where we really were. Maybe next time we will have moved with the times and have a GPS (global positioning by satellite). After checking out one campsite, we moved to the other side of the river that was better equipped for landing the canoes, and had lunch. Doug was out with his trusty stove and had water boiling for soup in no time. Bert, alias Crocodile Dundee, sliced his pepperoni without losing any fingers with his machete come knife. Ross with his literate sweatshirt entreated us to his political viewpoint of liberals. Tim found an old lure. We switched canoes, Ross and Chip in mine, and I paddling with Jay’s lovely canoe. This gave us a chance to socialize with more people and learn what has happened over the last year since our last annual get together. As we paddled, we talked and strengthened our fellowship membership of Rotary Canoeists, the second goal espoused by President Carlo Ravizza in the July Rotarian. We talked of club activities, what they did in the Stratford club, or clubs in Virginia, or Kirkland Lake. In having several members from the Stratford club with us, they were imbued with fellowship. And finally we tried to work as a team, working in solidarity..not always successful, but we tried.
After going up Penassi Lake, we came to our first portage of 162 meters leading up from the right. The Ministry of Natural Resources has been downsized, and hasn’t kept up with the maintenance of the portages. We had a recent storm go through the area knocking down several trees across the path near the start of the trail. Then there was a slippery sloping rock that caused Norm’s demise while carrying his canoe. You would think that with two doctors on hand, his health would be assured, but he was of faint heart, and would not let the medics near him to treat the badly bruised side and limbs.
Chip was of a different school; why portage when you can run the rapids? So that with the canoe lightened from one of my portages, I came back and joined the Captain to run the rapids which we did without a hitch. Chip is a very experienced canoeist, and spent much of his working life in a submarine, which maybe why he is akin to going underwater, or down with his ship.
We paddled on to the next portage which we also ably ran bypassing the 40 meter portage As the day closed, we took the north side passage into small Rankin Lake. It was shallow amongst the reeds necessitating getting out and dragging the canoe over the sand bar before reaching the nearby shore.
Every wave that bears you on
To the silent shore,
From its sunny source has gone
To return no more:
Then let not an hour’s delay
Cheat you of your due;
But while it is called to-day,
Paddle your own canoe.
On the sandy beach we pitched our tents, and Chip and I enjoined a cold for Chip, but lovely warm for me, swim. Having got ready for dinner, I prepared the smoked oyster hors d’oeuvres and cheese and crackers. Doug brought out the salmon pate, and I opened the keg of cardboard containing the 3 L. of wine. We gathered around with Chip in his Hawaiian flowered shirt, I in my hippie flowered shirt and we did our opening skit of "Aloha" song of welcome (using poetic licence instead of farewell) while hanging onto the flowered garland. Each in turn clapped their hands ceremoniously three times, and brought greetings to each other, before passing on the communal wine glass to the next sojourner. These are the acts that bring us together. Each year, we try to outdo the year before’s revelry, and come up with new matched costumes, or an unusual dessert. I remember Rotarians baking a cake on the Thelon River in the Northwest Territories, and ending up in melting the oven. These are of which stories are made. Dinner the first night is always good, consisting of fresh meat, and real vegetables. Its freeze dried from here on in. A cool breeze and a short lived rain that night were harbingers of things to come. So that with the loons laughing their crazy song, we climbed into our sleeping bags and proceeded to slide down hill for the rest of the night, awoken only by my room mate’s snoring.
Admiral Ross marshaled the troops up at the break of dawn at 6 AM, and had the coffee on as I arose from the tent. The sky was overcast. We got our stoves going, and the bacon and eggs sizzling. Aluminum saucepans are not the greatest for distributing heat evenly; burnt in the centre and still cool around the edges. But food tastes good in the great outdoors. Tim loaded our canteens with purified water from Doug’s high tech machine. The tents were taken down, and Doug’s shovel was put to use digging the latrines in the woods; leave no evidence of our stay. Chip and I watched Tim kayak in pursuit of the others while we loaded our canoe with the baggage of soggy tents, having been rained on over breakfast.
Rain set in for the rest of the day. You would put on your rain gear and the sun would come out, baking you. Off would come the rain gear, and a black cloud would appear overhead.
Nobly dare the wildest storm,
Stem the hardest gale,
Brave of hear and strong of arm,
You will never fail.
When the world is cold and dark,
Keep an end in view,
And toward the beacon mark
Paddle your own canoe.
That we did. We quickly met three portages in quick succession. The others portage through the woods and bushes which appeared as the safer route. But appearances are deceiving. Norm took a tumble and fell in the water, injuring himself a second time. Ross fell and twisted and sprained his knee, but pain didn’t set in till the next day. Jay’s arm was developing a tendonitis from the overuse of the repetitive paddling.
Captain Chip saw opportunities and challenges of running the rapids. We scouted the first, paddled into a still pool, scraping on a few rocks to get into position. We then surveyed the scene downstream, picked our route along the left bank, and headed out, close to port, down through the sluiceway, then rocks to starboard, and we were through without a hitch.
We encouraged Tim with his kayak to run the next one, first over a small ledge between a branch and a rock, then stepped out and did a little lift over some shallow gravel, and onto a small 1 to 2 meter waterfall. We hand lined this one. The rocks were slippery in the rain, and I slipped landing on my derriere for Doug to capture me in the delivery position in stirrups. Uninjured though, back on my feet, we guided the craft laden with supplies down the waterfall to safety, while the others watched on. The kayak we lifted over.
On to the next. The others surely thought that we would portage this one, as I did too. Backpacking the first load we headed up a steep hill and walked along the trail and came to a small clearing overlooking a gorge, 20 meters below. It was beautiful. Certainly this demanded the portage I thought. But on returning, found Captain Chip had pronounced it as do able. I sent Tim back for the paddles and life jacket, having already carried them over. Chip and I inched, centimetered along the rock wall to the first small falls, got out and lined the canoe through the gap. Tim arrived and we did the same. Now came the tricky part. Chip eased the craft to the log blocking the top of the falls, and got out into the water hoping that it was shallow. Not a chance...2 meters at least. With 20 meters of floating line, we secured the canoe and let it over the falls, and through the rapids to safety. Now what? I scaled the rock up to the trail and around the cliff to the next clearing, and eased myself into position to receive the canoe. Just enough to grab it, and get inside as help arrived with Bert and Steve to the rescue. After almost going in, I got safely into the canoe to receive the kayak. Chip refastened the rope to the kayak and let it down as before, but it caught in the rapids, flipped, and we lost Tim’s left water shoe, and right sock. It is always thus. But the other provisions floated around inside the kayak and didn’t come out. I righted the kayak, and paddled down to the audience of portagers sitting on a chair, and standing at the spectacle. But what about Chip? He had slipped and was hanging on to the log for dear life as the water tried to drag him under. But being of strong arm, he pulled himself to safety. But what now. Here he was standing precariously on a log, clinging to a shear rock face. Marlene, our rock climber with pitons would be in seventh heaven, but Chip, that was another matter. Playing Spider Man, he managed to climb to safety and to the path above, and walk the rest of the portage. By this time, the others had finished lunch, and had soup and pita pockets ready for us. It started to rain again. But we had the above story to tell as opposed to a boring portage. I hope that the pictures turned out. We conquered Caribou Falls.
If your birth denied you wealth,
Lofty state, and power,
Honest fame and hardy health
Are a better dower;
But if these will not suffice,
Golden gain pursue,
And to win the glittering prize,
Paddle your own canoe.
So it was with Chip, always ready for the challenge, going the extra degree, anything for a story. The others had headed off into the rain, and we followed as rear Admirals. Even Tim was way ahead. But Chip in his hunter orange hat that could be seen for kilometers, brought up the stern. We paddled up Lake Mistinikon in the rain and sun. The pants would be soaked, and then dry only to be soaked again. We finally caught up to the rest of the group by the bridge to the mine. We headed off alone and took the lead to find the evening campsite. Through the mist and rain, we saw cabins with smoke rising forth, but no campsite markers. We saw an old dock, but it was bush from the shore up, so that we paddled on. Finally, almost to the end of Bell Island, we stopped to find the rest of the crew. We knew the maps were not that accurate, but we had seen no campsite. But Tim was with the others, so that we headed back looking for the gang. We finally found them at the dock on the north side of the cove where you could see the fire tower. We climbed the path to the top of the hill to find their tents all set up on a grassy knoll. Ross admonished us to all stay together the next time, to practice solidarity as a team..
Would you wrest the wreath of fame
From the hand of Fate?
Would you write a deathless name
With the good and great?
Would you bless your fellow men?
Heart and soul imbue
With the holy task, and then
Paddle your own canoe.
We set up our tent, and prepared dinner of veal stroganoff, with mince meat now thawed. Doug and Marlene were into the appertifs, when I got out the wine, and another can of smoked oysters to partake. We then enjoyed dinner, and Tim whipped up the chocolate pudding. After dinner, Tim did dishes by the lake on the dock. Tim is our fisherman. We had not done a lot of fishing with the poor weather, and trying to get to this camp before nightfall, and bucking a headwind and rain most of the day. But if not a fisherman directly, then a fisher of men as Jesus would say. So that when this boat came with people to claim some driftwood, Tim started up a conversation, asking how the fishing had been. It turned out that it had gone well for them and that they had over their limit. Tim not wanting to let a fish go to waste offered his hand to take one off theirs which they generously did....a nice bass. So that with a rope through its mouth and gill, we had fresh fish for the following breakfast. We slept well that night on the level and dreamed...
Would you crush the tyrant Wrong,
In the world’s fierce fight?
With a spirit brave and strong,
Battle for the Right;
And to break the chains that bind
The many to the few—
To enfranchise slavish mind,
Paddle your own canoe.
The next morning, we arose to Ross’s cooking. We cooked the bass and Chip made the pancakes which we drowned in real maple syrup as the rest headed out on their canoes for another day of paddling in the rain. Tent down, Tim off in pursuit of the others, we finally packed, and checked the campsite, and brought up the rear. As we paddled, we talked of Rotary.
We talked of previous canoe trips, working with youth, cubs and scouts, and Rotary student exchanges...of learning about other cultures...of trying to make the world better...of the trials and tribulations of being the Mayor of a small town..."Never attribute to malice what can be explained by simple stupidity"..."Never ask a question that you don’t know the answer"..."Don’t enter a room until you know that you have the votes"...etc.
It was an overcast day with a steady drizzle. We met Ross and Jay at the next bridge, and they were calling it a day due to injuries from the day before. Tim in his kayak, and we in our canoe, paddled on into the mist looking for the others. We saw the public sign not to enter the dangerous waters above the dam that was boomed off with large logs chained end to end. But after checking out a false inlet of stumps, we headed back and crossed the demarcation, and rounded the bend to see Norm waiting for us with his helpful hand to direct us the way of the portage around the dam. This one we could not run, Matachewan Falls. We carried over the canoe, the first time for us, and eased it down a tricky slope over fallen logs and into the water. Chip then steered the canoe upstream for a few photos of the falls and dam. We went back to pick up Tim by the log cabin, and have some trail mix, and then headed off in the direction of the others down steam of the Montreal River. We ran a small rapid at old Fort Matachewan, and were looking forward to running Old Woman Rapids, when the others signaled to us to head over to the cove on the right west side where there was a clearing up a gentle hill. There, Norm and Doug had a large car wheeled wagon to carry our ladened canoe and Tim’s kayak up and over the small hill to the other side of the isthmus. Beside the trail was a train track with a winched trolley to take larger boats back and forth from one part of the river to the other. Soon we were paddling to the shores of Matachewan where Ross and Jay, Ross’s daughter and son in law Larry, and my wife were waiting with vans, and warmth, and dryness. We unloaded the canoes, then lashed the later to the vans and trailer, and headed home for a warm shower, to clean up, and have dinner and regale each other about the trip, past and future adventures, and further exchanges of Rotary. This is what fellowship is about.
Nothing great is lightly won,
Nothing won is lost—
Every good deed nobly done,
Will repay the cost;
Leave to Heaven, in humble trust,
All you will to do;
But if you succeed, you must
Paddle your own canoe.