Fellow Adventurers,

Sadly (very sadly), the time has come for me to accept the inevitable.

Over the past couple of years, I've maintained a faint flicker of hope that some health miracle would rescue me from old age and allow me to return to the activity that more than any other has defined my life in Canada.

I took it up not long after immigrating to Canada from the US in 1971. I guess it was part of my campaign to reinvent myself as a hardy Canadian, after fleeing a place that I wanted to put behind me.

I liked the self-sufficiency of the canoe. It was a test of my own abilities. I learned from reading Don Starkell and watching Bill Mason, that there was no limit to how far you could go (in many respects) if you had the stamina and the will. It became obvious to me, for example, that I could portage from my house to the Don River and, from there, get literally anywhere on the planet if I had the will.

I never had THAT much will -- just enough to paddle the Don from York Mills to Lake Ontario (a route that had its moments back in the 70s: mink and muskrats in profusion very near the DVP and Lawrence Avenue). For all I know, it still may be an accidental wildlife preserve.

But its a good example of the ability to discover unsuspected vignettes of Nature that are easy to spot as you silently float past them.

It was easy to transition into wilderness canoe camping. Once again: the idea of self-sufficiency was very appealing.

That was the beginning of it; now I'm at the end of it. It was a great, sometimes wild, ride. And in spite of my many ineptitudes, I survived.

Now it's finally time to sell the canoes and retire into the periphery.

I plan to stick around here at CCR to read and sometimes post as a Respected Elder (that'll be the day! I guess I'm not old enough yet) and emeritus canoe guy.

-JF-

I feel your pain brother! I too am approaching that inevitable milestone. I haven't done a lot of back country tripping but enough to know how much you'll miss it. I now limit myself to fishing/paddling day trips on a sit on top kayak. The last couple of years have me wondering if it will be my last year. I live vicariously thru the posts on this forum.

Include me in your group. Was planning on a long solo trip this summer, but a severe knee injury in February has me on hold right now. Hope that last summer's trip was not my last, but at age 82 the end is not far down the road.
I feel for you, John (and all us others) as being in a canoe in the wilderness is an insatiable experience.

GG

_________________
A smart man learns from his mistakes,
A wise man learns from the mistakes of others.
*************************************
email: geraldguay@hotmail.com

I read Don Starkell and then I read Victoria Jason's "Kabloona in the Yellow Kayak". I have a photo of the Bill Mason monument on the north side of the Seal River. I may be wrong but I believe it was just upstream of Great Island.

i had the same exact thought as you when living in TO, but about the humber. enthralled by it. by that thought. it's a beautiful thing. i'm not sure why. maybe because in that moment such a precious thing shows up right inside a thing so otherwise, like a deep statement on your wall but invisible in all light. and how so beautifully it reveals, as a twisting lapping river. no matter the stain, how it moves and sounds and turns -- just as they do -- out there. i also was moved by the "self-sufficiency of the canoe" you mentioned, and how it's just an extension of your body, and takes nothing (nothing) to move, no matter what's in it. just time. and portaging through union station between all those clicking shoes. no canoe so pretty as that one.
glad to have you here to see your stories and thoughts about canoe trips and canoeing,

Surviving ineptitudes taught valuable lessons, and Father Time catches up to all of us eventually.

In the past few years I have accepted that multi-week trips are a thing of my past, and realized that hard carries, or simply getting out of the canoe with any grace and dignity at a steep, treacherous landings are not in the cards any longer.

Even distant trips, driving thousands of miles to trip to some far off river, now holds less allure; I have less desire to travel to “some place new”, perhaps because, if is a bust or bulloxed, that was precious time wasted.

I haven’t given up entirely, but I have cut way back on frequency, duration and challenge. More gentle day trips locally. 3 – 4 day trips, or even week long trips if somewhere proven easy. More pleasure in set-up once and linger base camps; “Oh look, a shallow sandy beach at the site and a short haul into camp, that’s just the ticket for the next few days”. Empty canoe day trips from a base camp, maybe just poking around the next lake cove or tributary, hold increasing allure.

I may never achieved Respected Elder or Emeritus status, but I have been putting more effort into encouraging the next generation, especially as my age group dies off or loses the desire and ability.

I have a permitted canoe chained up at a reservoir that various friend’s offspring have been using. I’ll have a second permitted next year at a different reservoir. The young borrowers use gladdens my heart.

The most frequent borrower is Eddie, son of a dearly departed paddling pal; he has been using the reservoir boat, and more recently borrowing canoes from my racks, with maps and advice on where to go and how to get there.

He was here at dawn today; I added surplus gunwale stops to his roof racks, added under hood tie downs for bow lines and sent him off to the lower Susquehanna with Yellowstone Solo racked on his car. The YS was one of his late father’s solo, with sadly rotted gunwales and brightwork, now fully restored with new gunwales and brightwork.

Today’s Eddie adventure had originally been planned as an exploratory sailing trip, using one of the decked, ruddered sailing boats. A plan that was guaranteed to result in the most windless, dead calm day of the year. We racked the Yellowstone Solo instead.

Eddie returned psyched, still stoked to try downwind sailing one of the ruddered boats, and immediately mentioned that he loved the YS (it was the perfect solo canoe for his dad, Eddie is the same size).

EK_0043 by Mike McCrea, on Flickr

Eddie expressed interest in taking the YS down our local homeriver, a place of long history (‘70’s trips) for his dad and I, that photo was taken there. I kinda sorta thought Eddie might have that inclination; I already had a custom river map on the bench, with downstream mileages noted at every bridge crossing.

We have a plan. I’ll have the Yellowstone Solo racked on my truck before he arrives in the morning, shuttle his car the few miles to the take out, and drop him off upstream at the put-in.

And, I promised, after that I’ll accompany him on a sailing trip with some how and why simple sailing explanation; I just need to find the right day on some wind prone venue.

Perhaps I have an illustrious future as a boat-loaning shuttle driver. But, even if I can hook only one or two Gen Y or Z paddlers, I’m can live with those scant results; I’m still struggling to write the code for an inter-active multi-player on-line canoe game with good graphics.

Don’t laugh, it’s only a matter of time. It could be the paddling version of “The Oregon Trail”; select your doomed canoeing expedition and, oops, “You died of starvation”, “Capsized and drown” or “Ate your companions”

@mike nice post!

Allow me to reply not as a canoeist but as a pilot. The day comes for all of us flyboys when we must hang our wings, and that day can come for any of us, at any time. Most of us fly for the same reasons I paddle, I think. We see things, and we go places, that other people don't. It takes a lifetime of practice and it's a passion that most people don't have.

As a pilot I've danced on laughter-silvered wings and touched the face of God. I've flown upside down and backwards. I've shared the sky with eagles. I've survived my own mistakes through grit and strength of will that makes me feel alive in a way few other things can. But one day, and sooner than I would like, I will have to give it up.

I'm not "old", but old enough now to understand the realities of the slow march of death. I envy you. You chose your time. For us pilots, usually it's on very legally binding doctor's orders. I have a strong feeling that only my wife or my doctor will similarly be able to convince me to give up my wilderness adventures.

_________________
If you ate today, thank a farmer.

JF - a poem for you, my fellow, unknown paddler friend -

- To my fellow paddler friend, as yet, unknown -

Once more on the Don, or another alike
It matters not the here nor there
All alike connected be

Where I go, or from where I come
Who may know, not I
But she knows, and yet, has not said ‘why?’

The eddies swirl, but here and there
The grains of the pale sink gently low,
But swiftly I move on

It has a direction,
but know not I, where the bow may turn
Yet, try must I, to keep her course but true and stern

It is the course, that I must take
Yet no other but me
It is mine alone to follow
And take the turn

What lies ahead beyond yon’ nether
And foreboding tempest lie?
But reed, and swale and rock must I
Do pass with skill and tale

To go and risk,
Yet life may pleasure find
Beyond yon hinter, reed, and fallow vale

It is a mystery
Yet pleasure be in it lie
Look yonder
Sand and beach do hale

It is near the end
Yet it will, always be with me
Still

Real nice Justin.

GG

_________________
A smart man learns from his mistakes,
A wise man learns from the mistakes of others.
*************************************
email: geraldguay@hotmail.com

Justin,

"It is near the end
Yet it will, always be with me
Still"

That's exactly right.

Thanks for the poetry.

I can see from all the responses that folks here can identify with what I'm feeling: Sad reality tempered with a lifetime of canoe memories -- priceless!

The lesson is: "enjoy it while you can."

- JF -

My long-time boss, lucky-me a true friend of 45 years, sent me this for my birthday, and I thought of this thread.

https://www.amazon.com/Never-Underestim ... C91&sr=8-3



John, I hear you. I sold off all of our tandems a few years ago. IF I waited ‘til the used-canoe Covid phenomenon I could have made a fortune had I so desired. Don’t care, all of those canoes went to people who had a genuine need and plans for them. Real nice people; I threw in a lot of extras and accessories to help purge the excess.

After a lifetime of family paddling we still have an embarrassing surfeit of boats and paddles and gear. I have given that thought over the years, and have left (occasionally updated) Will instructions for my family; which canoes to keep because they fit each of them and their varying uses perfectly, which canoes to give to friends because they want them or need them and have a desired use, which boats to sell if they see fit, and a reasonable no-dicker asking price.

All the other “stuff”; I dunno. There are a couple dozen each canoe seats, yokes and thwarts in the shop that need only minor refurbishment; I’d rather not see them go in a dumpster.

A large amount of fiberglass cloth, glass, Dynel and kevlar tapes, cord, sleeve and peel ply. Three large boxes of stainless steel, everydamnsize imaginable. Ehhh, at least several hundred dollars in various stainless, maybe closer to $1000; who’s gonna use them for boat repair? I’d rather not see that stainless get wasted either.

Again, instructions provided to invite a few boat tinkerer friends to the shop to pick what out they want; with the proviso that they deal a hand of Stud Poker, winner of each hand picks the next box. That was how my father and his brothers settled my grandfather’s estate.

Apologies, I didn’t mean to go morbid, but I have lost a half dozen dear paddling friends of old in the past few years, and not one of them had made any arrangements, leaving the Missus, or worse, a cackle of 80/90 year old aunts to, I dunno, hold a yard sale not knowing that that is a kevlar Bell canoe and those are carbon paddles. Really wish I’d been at those yard sales.

Maybe it’s not fun to think about; it can be kinda fun when you start setting out who gets what. And how. When my wife’s father passed away he left seven adult children. And seven heavily rusted hand saws, he was not a craftsman.

De-rusted one saw revealed the etching of a bi-plane on the blade, probably my wife’s grandfather’s saw. After de-rusting I had them all professionally sharpened. The saw aficionado sharpener provided a history for each one, date of manufacture, use and history. I wrapped them in plain brown paper and had the siblings play Stud Poker for who got to pick after each hand.

Understand that this is a Quaker family; they still gambled. The Gods smiled upon that effort; the lone carpenter son won the vintage 1920’s saw with the bi-plane etching. The sister-in-law, whom I have long delighted in tormenting (she deserves it), got last choice and “won” a bent 1970’s key hole saw. At least it was sharp.

BTW, my dad was a skilled and accomplished card sharp; he could shuffle and deal off the bottom of the deck unnoticed. He made sure his youngest brother, still living locally, “inherited” grandpa’s home on Lake Champlain. Dad somehow “won” only three hands, selecting an antique clock, a vintage shotgun and one of Gramp’s oil paintings. That oil painting hangs in our family room.

Might as well have some fun with it; whadda you care, you’ll be gone.

Mike,

That's a good shirt.

I mentioned that the idea of "self-sufficiency" appeals to me -- so there's an aspect of "clearing out my junk before somebody with less respect is forced to do it."

Tidying up my affairs, in a way.

Yeah I guess it's morbid to think about it, but there it is.

On the whole, I'd rather be canoeing!

-JF-

Great post and, for me, quite timely. My wife and I have been reducing our canoeing as we have been running out of energy. We gave up significant portaging a few years back but that was OK because our fave place is G bay. For the last 3 out of 4 years we used a water taxi to get back and forth. We just returned with 1 daughter and 2 friends yesterday from our very fave place, the Bad River/5 fingers area. That will most likely be our last trip. We have many happy memories of G Bay and other areas. We have a few glimpses of them recorded in pix.

I got interested in canoeing in grade 4 or so reading the (rose glasses version) of the voyageurs but did not get out tripping until I was 50+. This and many other reasons make me glad to be Canadian. I have sat on a rock in Killarney at sunset with nobody within sight or hearing dist and thought "What a country"!!(We went paddling in Alberta once and met a couple who came from Switzerland to see the mountains. )

_________________

Old canoeists never die---they just smell that way.

Interesting takings on "retiring" from active canoeing. My take is slightly different. As I matured into my canoeing pastime I came to see it as a mini Viking River Cruise. On the cheap no less! Pretty good cardio workout though. I do not know if I went where no canoeist had gone before but I never went where an Inuit/Native American had not gone before. I found remnants of their past almost every time I camped. When I didn't find anything the camp was usually uninhabitable save as a last resort. When you push it you are left with what's available. In fact, the time I did the Chipman Portage I knew I was on the right path because of the broken snowmobile parts. The same goes for the crossover from the Back to the Kaleet and then after Sherman Basin, Weir Creek over to Barrow Inlet. In fact, that was where we met Inuits camping and a ride to Gjoa Haven after some Caribou stew and a bit of bargaining. Victoria Jason, in her writings, had a gift for interacting with the locals. It made her writings enjoyable, With all the planning of getting close to nature, I found that those very preparations isolated me from nature. I was a tourist. I remember George Luste using that very word, tourist I have reflected upon how much closer I would have been to nature if some accident happened and I was left almost "naked and afraid" Now that would have brought 'communing with nature' to a whole new level. That's why when hard choices had to be made, the consequences of a screwup loomed large. And my time before I had a satellite phone or a Spot, made me tense indeed. Hornby was an Iron Man. His partner Bullock was of a lesser metal but certainly displayed his mettle trying to keep up with Hornby. Hornby had bread crumbs and a hand-drawn map with errors. Yes, Tyrell left out significant "water" on his maps. Today we have Google Earth where you can ID individual trees and a GPS with accuracy to 4 places decimal. Following past adventures today is not having that adventure today. Now I ponder should I scavenge through my digital past to find Mason's Memorial or the skeletal remains under a pile of rocks along with a cooking pot.