BY ROLF KRAIKER
Bio
Rolf is a highly qualified canoe instructor who’s guided many extensive trips in the wilderness and a professional photographer with many years of experience.
https://rolfkraiker.com/
Email: rolfkraiker@gmail.com
Thanks
Rolf is supported by the H2O Canoe Company in Ontario, Canada.
https://h2ocanoe.com
Rolf co-wrote one of the first comprehensive books on canoe tripping with kids, ‘Cradle to Canoe: Camping and Canoeing with Children.’ Rolf and Debra Kraiker, both certified canoeing instructors, provide expert guidance on such topics as introducing children to the wilderness, preparing formula in the bush, choosing and packing food, selecting the right camping gear and clothing, training young paddlers, ensuring safety in all situations, and campsite activities. You will find it available at: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Cradle-Canoe-Camping-Canoeing-Children/dp/1550462946
Are you sure?
That’s a question I often ask myself, but in this case, it was being asked by the person behind the permit counter on Canoe Lake in Algonquin Park. Under the circumstances, I didn’t blame him.
There is something about travelling in the wilderness by canoe; that’s pure magic. Over the years, I’ve learned a lot and had the opportunity to help many folks become more proficient in their wilderness and paddling skills.
It was late September, and on a whim, I decided I wanted to spend the weekend in the park with my oldest son Kyle, who was five years old at the time. When I got all my gear loaded into the car and drove the three hours to where I was now standing, it was almost dusk.
The guy behind the counter said I’d probably be paddling in the dark before I could get to a campsite, and he seemed reluctant to issue the permit. They get a lot of novice paddlers in the park, so I understood his concern, but I gave him a quick overview of my paddling resume, and he shrugged his shoulders and then issued the permit.
The permit office was closing up as I loaded my gear into the canoe on the shore just past the office. Behind me, I could feel his eyes watching, second-guessing if he’d done the right thing by issuing the permit to me. Once I pushed the canoe into water deep enough to use my paddle, I did a quick pivot, smiled and waved to the counter person, who returned the same to me, and I was on my way. I’m pretty sure he felt some relief watching me paddle with precise control and excellent speed.
By the time Kyle and I got to the portage at the end of Canoe Lake, it was indeed dark, but one of the reasons I decided to do this trip was that there would be a full moon, which was coming up over the horizon. I didn’t need my flashlight to gather gear or cross the portage. That portage is often busy during the daytime, but it was devoid of any signs of life and quiet now. Kyle was a trooper on the portage; he shouldered his pack and held my hand as we did the first load with the gear. I had him sit on one of the packs as I returned for the canoe.
As it got darker, the moist air from the daytime sun was being cooled by the dropping temperature of evening. When I put my canoe in the water at the end of the portage, a slight mist clung just above the water. Adding to that magic was the haunting call of a loon in the distance, serenading my passage as I quietly paddled through the mist.
Photo above: As novice paddlers improve their skills, they naturally want to expand their horizons and find more challenging canoe trips. To do that, it helps significantly to take some lessons from qualified instructors. This photo was taken on a canoe-tripping instructor course in the heart of Temagami, a wild and remote area in northern Ontario. The route involved many challenging portages like this one, something you want to be well prepared for as the consequence of a mishap means you are a long way from help.
The tricky part
The part that would be tricky would be finding a campsite in the dark that was vacant, but doing that in a way that wouldn’t disturb occupants if it wasn’t vacant. Shining a flashlight across a campsite only to have it light up a tent with people sleeping inside would have been rude. Thankfully, the first spot I stopped at was vacant, and I set up my tent on a flat spot between two tall rock faces.
After I got things organised, Kyle and I settled into the tent to get some sleep. It was a very pleasant September weekend. It was warm and sunny during the day and didn’t cool off too much at night. Kyle fell promptly asleep, and as I lay in my sleeping bag on the verge of dozing off, there was a loud shuffling noise coming from the woods behind me, and whatever was making the noise seemed headed for my tent. I listened quietly in the tent with some trepidation as the sound got closer. Not sure what was causing the noise, I waited, holding my breath, as something large passed by on both sides of my tent in the small space between the tent and the rock face on either side. At least that let me rule out a marauding bear intent on investigating the tent’s contents.
As the noise passed, I unzipped the door facing the lake just a short distance away. The noise I’d heard was a cow moose with her calf, and they were walking down to the water. A fairytale mist hung over the water, looking for all the world like dancing fairies moving in a slight breeze and lit by the full moon. It was very serene watching from my tent as the moose and her calf waded into the shallows for a time, framed by the dancing fairies of mist made so distinct by the bright moon behind them. I nudged Kyle awake so he could see the cow and her calf. Not finding anything of interest there, they went out of sight, leaving ripples in the water that glimmered at their passing.
Many times in my life, I’ve asked myself, “Am I sure?”. A few times, the risks seemed to outweigh the benefits, and I’d pass, but there have been many times when a magical, serendipitous surprise had me wondering why I’d ever doubted. I’ve been blessed, leading an ordinary life filled with extraordinary adventures.
Photo above: The French River in Ontario is a classic drop-and-pool river in the Canadian Shield that was the Voyageur’s highway, moving furs and trade goods to and from Montreal in huge canoes. It is a great place to introduce new paddlers to the thrill of white water paddling. For a novice paddler in the bow of a canoe paddled by a seasoned stern paddler, it is both a safe and exciting introduction to bouncing around in big waves. This photo was taken at the base of Blue Chute, and I’ve used this area for many years, running white water courses to a range of paddlers, from novice to seasoned paddlers wanting to improve their skills. When introducing paddlers to white water, it is important to find a location that is a good balance between challenge and comfort.
Moon River
The first canoe I could buy in the 70s was a 14-foot Cadorette. It was heavy fibreglass, had three keels, and there was nothing to recommend it, but it was all I could afford. One of my first solo trips in that canoe was down the Moon River into Georgian Bay. There are some strong and lasting memories from that trip.
I started in the parking area beside the river on the west side of what was then Highway 69. It was a pleasantly hot summer weekend, and the travelling was easy. I didn’t know as much about handling rapids then, so I carried around everything but the swifts. There was a narrow gorge near where the river empties into the bay, and I decided to camp at the top of the gorge on the left side of the river. After setting up the tent, my next task was to gather firewood. Back then, the river wasn’t travelled as much as it is now; I didn’t see anyone the entire time I was out. Because it was so rarely used, lots of dry sticks were lying around, so I didn’t need an axe or saw to get enough wood for a decent fire. Walking a short distance from my tent, it didn’t take long before I had a good-sized armload of suitable pieces of wood and started heading back to the tent.
Rattlesnake
My bundle of sticks made it hard to see the ground ahead of me, but it was easy walking, so I focused on returning to the tent. I’ll mention again that it was a hot day; I was wearing shorts and a T-shirt and only had light shoes on. As I was almost back to the tent, I heard the distinct sound of a rattlesnake somewhere on the path before me.
Instinctively, I jumped backwards while trying to twist a bit so I could see past my bundle of sticks. As I did that, I saw a long, slim object come from the ground and strike my leg. Oh crap, I thought, this is BAD. Taking time to calm my racing heart, I took stock of my situation. To my great relief, it turned out that one of the sticks I was carrying fell out, hit the ground and bounced onto my leg. The snake was still there before me, probably thinking what a stupid creature it had encountered.
I carefully skirted around the rattlesnake, dropped my firewood load at the campsite, and then went back to check on the snake still in the same spot. I carefully pinned the snake with a long stick, then carefully grabbed it behind the head. The snake was pretty docile and was probably well-fed during the day, so it was easy to handle. I wanted to move it away from where I set up camp. Rattlesnakes are pit vipers and find their prey with heat-sensing organs; I didn’t want the snake crawling into my tent overnight.
Fortunately, at some point during spring floods, a log had been washed downstream and was now lodged high up on shore, spanning the width of the gorge, making a narrow bridge to cross. Holding the snake at a good distance from my body, I did a little pole walking, took it to the opposite side of the river and released it. I was sure the rattlesnake wouldn’t return on the log, but it was of little comfort as they could swim very well. Thankfully, I didn’t see it on my side of the river again.
Photo above: With lots of time on the water, practice and experience can make understanding how to negotiate rapids an open book. The river can tell you where to put your canoe in safe spots and tell you which spots are trouble, but that doesn’t happen overnight. Trial and error will eventually get you to the point where you can manage most of the time, but taking a course with qualified instructors speeds up the process and introduces you to techniques that won’t be apparent if the best you’ve managed is pinball-type runs where you’re bouncing off rocks as you negotiate your way down a rapid. This photo shows a run down Blacks Rapid on the Ottawa River in Ontario. It is in the heart of the aptly named Whitewater Township, and the location draws paddlers worldwide.
Bushwhacking
The next day, I got past Moon Falls and started the portion of the trip I’d planned to do in Georgian Bay, heading north. The islands I wanted to check out for my next night required a lengthy paddle around a point of land. Looking at my map, it seemed there might be a shortcut I could take by doing a bit of bushwhacking where the point of land narrowed.
Pulling off the water, I hauled the canoe and gear on shore, then shouldered my large pack with all the camping gear and set out to find a reasonable path across, as there were no trails. Once across the point of land, I set down my large pack and headed back for the rest of my gear. I had left my day pack with the canoe, the PFD was zipped around a seat, and I’d set up the paddles in the canoe to use as a carrying yoke.
Returning to the other side where I’d left the canoe required more bushwhacking, but it wasn’t too hard. I shouldered my day pack, hoisted the canoe and struck off again for the short trip to where I’d left my camping gear.
More problematic
Making my way across on the second trip with the canoe was more problematic as it wasn’t a cleared portage path. I had to pay attention to my footing, and the brush along the way forced some slight changes in direction as the canoe was being pushed around.
Eventually, I made it to the water, and as I hoisted the canoe off my shoulders and onto the ground, I looked around to find where I’d left the large pack. Hmmm, it was nowhere in sight. I walked back and forth a bit, but there was no sign of my pack, so clearly, I’d ended up in the wrong spot.
Thankfully, my map and compass were in the day pack I’d carried with the canoe. After studying the landscape and taking compass bearings of various features to compare against the map, it became very apparent that instead of making a relatively straight line across the narrow section to where I placed my pack, I’d made a circle while struggling with the canoe and wound up on the same shore I’d started from a short distance away.
Knowing where I’d gone wrong, I paddled back to the place I had landed before and prepared to make my way across again, lifting the front of the canoe frequently to ensure I was on track. This time, I could thankfully see the big pack of camping gear lying on shore as soon as I could see the water.
Photo above: Novice paddlers should start by exploring quiet waterways close to home, but as experience grows, they will want to find more challenging trips. It’s best to gradually expand the length and complexity of your outings to become more confident in your skills. This photo was taken on the shores of the Horton River in the Northwest Territories in Canada’s Arctic. It was a five-week, self-supported trip that required a lot of pre-trip planning to sort out the logistics. Once the bush plane drops you off at the start point, you need to be completely self-reliant; food, first aid, and equipment all need to be in place to make sure you arrive at the spot where the bush plane will pick you up at the end of your journey without incident.
Undeniable magic
There is an undeniable magic about camping on the small islands of Georgian Bay. The water is crystal clear; you can walk around on bedrock polished smooth by retreating glaciers, and there will be white pines clinging to crags in the rocks bent into Bonsai shapes by the prevailing westerly wind. It isn’t the place you’d want to be in a storm, but on a calm summer day, it’s hard to imagine a more perfect spot to spend some time. Since I was at the east end of the bay looking west with the vast expanse of water dotted with nearby islands in front of me, I was treated to a spectacular Georgian Bay sunset before crawling into my tent.
Navigating
These days, GPS and phone apps can take a lot of the guesswork out of navigating, but I still rely on a good topographic map and compass. You never have to worry about dead batteries or poor mobile reception.
An introduction to canoeing can lead to a lifelong passion where the rewards might be as simple as an early morning paddle on a quiet pond or an adventure-packed wilderness trip on remote rivers.
