Expectations
It was early evening when my husky Nanook and I pulled off the dirt of a washboard logging road to park at the edge of the Montreal River. A single lane bridge of squared timber spanned the tea-stained water and a couple vehicles parked further up the bank signified fellow canoeists.
I was headed out for a preemptive trip of eight or nine days before being joined by my friends, Matt and Jordan. I had no real plan beyond reaching Smoothwater Lake(the mythical birthplace of the world), but I had a map, and the knowledge that I could get just about anywhere from here by canoe.
Over four thousand kilometres of canoe routes span the Temagami region. A vast and ancient network of trails known as the 'nastawgan' branch out like an arterial network, allowing infinite possibilities of canoe travel across a rugged and stunning wilderness. If the nastawgan are its arteries, Smoothwater Lake is its heart.
Stepping out from my car, I noticed a short woman of fifty something coming up from the river. She was clutching a newly filled Platypus water bladder. Its bulging plastic skin was fogged and beading with condensation. The water must be very cold, I thought. To be expected with ice-out just a couple weeks gone by. She stopped behind me as I released one of the straps that held the canoe to the roof of my car.
"Where ya headed?" she asked.
"Smoothwater."
"Tonight?"
"Tonight."
"Well, you'll be paddling in the dark." she said. Her arched eyebrow said even more.
"Oh, I know. I just want to get out there. First trip of the year. Besides - I love a good night paddle!" I smiled at her and watched her brow relax. She smiled back, shrugging resignation.
"At least the weather looks OK." She said, gesturing at the sky with her chin - her hands still held the Platypus.
It was a glorious evening. The sun was still a finger’s width above the treetops. The sky was clear and the air cool. A playful breeze teasing at the boughs of spruce and tamarack made me sigh. It was good to be here.
The woman's name turned out to be Tracy. Her and her companions(3 French-Canadians) had just come back from a short jaunt into the Lady-Evelyn, Smoothwater Provincial Park. They had a lot to complain about. A lack of signage, poorly maintained campsites and blowdown on the portages had really ruffled their feathers. They were particularly appalled at a poorly placed beaver dam that had them attempting a lift-over in swampy muskeg. To top it off - their map seemed to have placed campsites and portage routes slightly off from their actual positions.
Although sympathizing with their disappointment outwardly, I found the whole exchange a little disturbing - wasn't canoe tripping about experiencing life in the wilderness after all? Caught up as I was in the wanderlust of three weeks canoeing ahead of me, I found I couldn't relate.
After they were through venting their displeasure and vowing never to return, they enlisted my help in planning a new route along another branch of the Montreal River to the northwest. I obliged and assured them of the numerous and well-used campsites - and motorboats - they would find along their new route. We then said our goodbyes and bid each other good luck on our respective journeys and I went back to unloading and packing my canoe.
The sun had migrated well below the tree-tops by the time I dipped my paddle in the river. The breeze had picked up and clouds, citrus-hued in the setting sun, were creeping in along the western horizon. By dusk the breeze was a stiff headwind and the clouds were rolling east over the emerging stars like a black curtain. Powerful gusts swept the canoe sideways toward the shore - a shore that had devolved into floating muskeg, thick willow brush and gnarly cedar growth. Nanook lay asleep in the bow, raising his head now and then as I bumped the gunwale fighting off the wind.
What if it rains? My mind reeled at the thought of being caught in a storm in the dark. Not that I wasn't prepared for such a scenario, but being prepared for it didn't mean it would be enjoyable - far from it. I paddled harder. I told myself it would pass. I told myself I'd soon be next to a cozy little fire at some picturesque campsite that was sure to reveal itself any moment. The wind howled. Dusk turned to dark. It rained.
It came down in sheets - whipping against my face and hands - and before long the wet was creeping under my goretex from the wrists, waist and neck. Nanook stood and shook off. He refused to sit in the puddle forming below him and so just stood awkwardly and endured. Somehow I was still thinking it would calm down, that I would make it to my originally intended campsite, but with my canoepack looking like it may start floating inside the canoe, I realized I had better forget what I had planned and just get to shore.
Creeping along the edge of the river, the light of my headlamp did little to brighten the tangle of willows that lined it and now and then branches skittered across the side of the canoe with a horrible screeching. Eventually I spotted the humped form of a beaver house and pulled in to a well-worn trail along its edge. Nanook was off in a blur of white before the bow touched the shore.
Heaving the canoe up the bank, I wasted no time in retrieving my tarp(placed in the top of my pack for such an occasion) and strung it up between a few cedars to cover myself and my gear. A few minutes later the tent was pitched, with dry clothes and a warm sleeping bag waiting for me inside. Sitting there under the tarp, I stuffed some tobacco in my pipe, lit it and leaned back against my pack to reflect on the unexpected happenings of the past few hours.
Nothing had gone as planned. I had expected to be paddling in the glassy reflection of the milky way for a few hours before the gentle hiss of sand scraping my bow anounced my arrival at Smoothwater Lake's legendary crescent-moon beach. I'd be warm and dry, sipping at a hot mug of spruce needle tea as orange flames flickered cheerfully before me; the sweetness of the jackpine smoke and the starlit silhouette of a distant mountain range would fill my soul with delight and wonder - all before falling asleep to the sound of waves lapping at the shore.
Instead I was cold, wet and permeated by the deafening roar of a wind-whipped rain beating against my tarpaulin. My boots were filled with water, my fingers half-numb and my wool sweater heavy and sodden with dampness. It wasn't long before the irony of the situation - the contrast of reality versus expectation - had me grinning like a fool. This is insane. I must be insane. I had left the cozy comfort of my cabin in the woods to willingly expose myself to the fickle whims of the elements. Why?
It was an interesting question to ponder. Paddling mirror surfaced lakes through a landscape that looks like a painting is easy to understand. But what about when things turn ugly? What about the bugs, the sweat, the exhaustion, the cold and the innumerable other hardships that come hand in hand with wilderness travel? What is the value in that? What was it about this miserable moment under a sagging tarp that put a grin on my face?
I must have considered this for a while, because by the time I came back to myself my pipe had fizzled and gone cold. It wasn't the challenge of "man versus wild" (an attitude I despise), or some sort of self-indulgent asceticism. I certainly didn't enjoy being cold and wet. It was because it was real. It was real and honest and in my face. My hopes, expectations, plans and egotistical bullshit meant nothing out here and somehow letting all that go was freeing.
In society, if you struggle, someone is almost always there to help you. Reputation, human rights, political correctness, religion and socio-economic status all serve as safeguards, comforts and buffers against emotional and physical suffering. It's a complex web that allows us to indulge in all kinds of fantasies about ourselves, what we deserve and don't deserve, what's fair and unfair, etc... We build up all kinds of ideas about who we are, how we should be treated and what we will experience. Out here however, the law was simple and utterly without frills: adapt or suffer.
As I came to these conclusions I began to understand the people I had met before setting out. They had come out here with the baggage of their "civilized" mindsets and expectations and when the inevitable clash of worlds took place, they chose to tuck tail and run. I certainly was no better than them, every time I head out on a trip after too much time in society I seem to forget some of the rules. I've just learned that the trials of mother nature, when embraced, carry with them some of life's greatest wisdom - a wisdom I need exposure to again and again.
As if by design, the tempest began to wane. The swaying of the trees abated, then ceased altogether and the patter of droplets overhead was now just the residual moisture falling from leaf and needle. Eager as ever and rejuvenated by contemplation, I opted for repacking the canoe and paddling on. I gave a sharp whistle and Nanook materialized from the pitch-black with tongue lolling and eyes laughing - ever the optimist. Minutes later I slid the canoe down the bank and we were once again gliding up the back of the mist covered river.
I hope you enjoyed the read. These small stories, blogs - whatever they are - come from my heart; I share them out of a passion to create and see others inspired to make their own connection with the Wilderness. If you found value in your time here, and are inclined to do so, you can help keep me writing by buying me a coffee!
About The Author
A bounty of fish from a solo canoe trip down the Makobe River, Temagami.
For Clint Zold, the pursuit of authentic Wilderness experiences has led him across landscapes both far and wide. Whether paddling the ancient Nastawgan of mystic Temagami, hiking the lonely mountains of the West, or snowshoeing the hunting grounds of his trapping territory in the Arctic Watershed of Northern Ontario - Clint is truly at home in the wild.
Living off-grid on the banks of the Mattagami River; the canoe, axe and snowshoe have become his daily companions in a semi-subsistence lifestyle where food, warmth and water come from the land around him. His passion for Wilderness is only equaled by his desire to share it with others