Paddle To The Sea

One of Canada's cultural treasures, in this Canadian's humble opinion, is the National Film Board (or, for those francophone Canadians out there, the Office National du Film). The NFB/ONF was first established in 1939, its goal being “….to make and distribute films across the country that were designed to help Canadians everywhere in Canada understand the problems and way of life of Canadians in other parts of the country.” Since that time, the NFB/ONF has made over 13,000 films, most of them short (running for 30 minutes or less) including documentaries, educational films, animated shorts and their famous "vignettes". NFB/ONF films tend to have a uniquely Canadian flavour and perspective.

I recently discovered that the NFB/ONF hosts its own web site, where one can view (for free) and download or purchase (relatively cheaply) most of the titles in the prodigious NFB/ONF collection. Among my personal favorites are "The Sweater", Sheldon Cohen's animated version of Roche Carrier's classic short story about his boyhood idolization of the Montreal Canadiens and Maurice "The Rocket" Richard in particular (charmingly narrated by Carrier himself in his heavy francophone accent) and "Paddle To The Sea".

I first saw "Paddle To The Sea" in elementary school, when my teacher played it for the class as an educational film intended to teach us about the great lakes and the St. Lawrence seaway. Paddle To The Sea is the name given to a wooden carving of an aboriginal Canadian in a traditional birch canoe. He is hand-whittled by a young boy who lives in the Nipigon country on the northern shore of Lake Superior. This talented young boy wants to see the ocean, but can't, so he carves "Paddle" to make the journey in his stead. Paddle does eventually reach the ocean, but not before evading or overcoming a number of obstacles, as one might imagine, including being beached, beset by seagulls, a snake and all manner of aquatic wildlife including a young child who fancies him an excellent toy, getting frozen in an ice-covered lake and almost being puréed by the propeller screws of several very large ships.

This film appealed to my boyhood self on several levels and therefore made an indelible impression and sparked a lasting fondness that finally resulted in my happily paying to download it and add it to my personal video collection these many years later. For one thing, I was filled with admiration at the craftsmanship with which Paddle was carved and painted, since making miniatures (albeit plastic model kits in my case) was a favorite hobby of my own in those days. Oh how I would have loved to add something like Paddle to my collection of display pieces! And herein lay the second source of my fascination with the story. Had I actually the talent to create such a carving myself, I'm sure that I could never have parted with it, consigning my long hours of painstaking work to the whims of the currents and the tides, never to know for certain whatever became of it or, indeed, whether it actually reached its destination.

The whole concept of tossing a canoe into the water and then simply following its progress to see what becomes of it without actually intervening in any manner was equally intriguing to me. I've noted before in this blog that I seem to have this unusual fascination with just sitting and watching things unfold of their own accord.

A small creek ran parallel to the street where I lived during my pre-adolescent years and, after watching "Paddle To The Sea", I'd often go there and toss all manner of items into the water, wondering how far or to where they would drift. I'd often see them snag on a tree branch or clump of grass or stone before travelling even ten yards. Oh well. "A thousand mile journey begins with a single step" someone once said. A pity they didn't mention that it often ends there as well.

This leads me to the one thing about this film that really sparked my incredulity. When I tossed things into the creek, I would at least watch the start of their journeys, wanting some idea as to whether they got anywhere at all. However, the young boy who made Paddle To The Sea doesn't do that. He doesn't even put him in the water! He simply perches him at the top of a snow bank, and leaves him to sit there until the spring thaw sends him into the river. In other words, he can't even be sure whether Paddle's journey ever began! Oh, certainly he could return in the springtime to find Paddle gone, but this doesn't necessarily mean that he made it to the river. Some other person or animal might have come upon him and simply carried him away. To summarize, then, this young boy spent countless hours, painstakingly carving and painting this beautiful miniature brave in a birch canoe, then took it to the river bank, set it in the snow and walked away, hoping that it might somehow find its way to the ocean.

And I thought that I was an optimist!

Stone Washed

Yesterday, I went canoeing for the second time in my life. Our group followed the same course that I blogged about the last time around; a twenty kilometer run from Cambridge to Paris, Ontario.

My wife and daughter did not accompany me this time as the bad taste from our last expedition still lingered in their mouths, and neither was much in the mood for a swim, if you get my drift. Instead, my rowing partner this time around was my good friend, Michael Feeney; an avid outdoorsman with previous canoeing experience. He even brought his own wooden paddle, with which he would whack me every time I mistakenly referred to it as an "oar".

Having Michael in the canoe with me was a refreshing change from my previous company. It was nice to row with someone who worked with me, rather than having to constantly struggle to counteract what the other person was doing, or having to periodically exclaim "Okay, stop rowing for a moment ... no, just stop. Stop! Just stop I say! STOP!!!"

Michael and I worked well together and made very good time. By the halfway point, we were far ahead of the rest of the group. We enjoyed the peaceful, natural surroundings and caught many a glimpse of nature's wonders, including two cranes, a muskrat, and a young fawn.

The fawn was a special treat. It stood there on the riverbank, watching us curiously, apparently content that the water people seemed comfortably distant enough to be unable to harm it. Then Shawn, my cousin's eighteen-year-old son, who followed a short ways behind us in another boat, spied it. Shawn is ... how shall I put this? Not exactly the sharpest knife in the proverbial drawer. The moment he noticed the fawn he crowed "HEY DAD! DEER! LOOK DAD! IT'S A DEER! DAD LOOK! HURRY DAD, IT'S RUNNING AWAY!" And thus was our admiration of the young fawn sadly curtailed.

Our canoe trip was a spur-of-the-moment idea, agreed upon because it looked like a splendid day for one. The morning was brilliant and warm, with nary a cloud in the azure sky. Naturally, while we were on the water, huge gray clouds sprang up literally from out of nowhere and rained down upon us; not just a gentle, pattering rain, mind you, but a full-blown thunderstorm with sheets of water cascading down on us! As if nature were rubbing it in, my wife reported later, when I returned home, that she had seen no rain at all. No, apparently, it only rained where our group decided to go canoeing. It wouldn't surprise me to learn that it did not, in fact, rain anywhere other than along the length of the Grand River. The clouds probably went out of their way to follow our boats and relieve themselves upon us, not that I suffer from any sort of persecution complex. Perhaps the Great Rainmaker reads my blog and remembered my earlier post romanticizing rainy days. "So you like rain, do you?" I imagine Him chortling to Himself, as he began conjuring up a collection of thunderheads.

In spite of Michael's superior canoeing skill and the improvements to my own skills from the lessons learned on my previous trip, our journey down the Grand River was not completely without mishap. Our canoe did get upset just one time, as we tried to negotiate a fast-moving current over some particularly jagged rocks. Our boat came up against one of the rocks and listed seriously to port (he said, in his most convincing "Old Sea Dog" voice). We managed to counter-balance and avoid tipping, but the incline had been enough to allow a large quantity of water to rush into the boat. By the time we were righted, the boat was low and heavy, and water was still sloshing in over the sides, not to mention the fact that we were still being jostled about by the rocks. I just had time to shout "We're not gonna make it!" before we listed again and capsized.

Here's where I made my mistake. I instinctively tried to stay with the boat. Before we disembarked on our trip, our guide had cautioned us never to position ourselves downstream from the canoe should it tip, as a water-logged canoe can weigh as much as two thousand pounds, and getting pinned against a rock by that kind of weight can totally ruin one's day.

I quickly learned the truth of this as I did, indeed, find myself on the downstream side of our overturned craft. I tried to stand up and hold the canoe in position with my torso, only to be unceremoniously pushed back as my legs splayed out underneath the canoe. Remembering the guide's warning about getting pinned against a rock, I wisely moved aside and allowed the boat to float past me, so that I was now upstream of it.

This is where I made my second mistake, deciding that, if I couldn't brace myself in front of the canoe, I would grab onto its stern and stay with it as it floated downstream. Well, stay with it I did (for a few brief moments), with the boat dragging me along behind it, over many a large, jagged rock.

After a few painful bounces, I wisely let go and tried to plant my feet on the riverbed and stand up, but the water was high and the current was strong from the rainfall. I couldn't find a level footing because of the many jagged rocks, and the currently simply buckled my knees and pulled me down. I flailed around among the rocks for several frightening moments, swallowing large mouthfuls of water, coming up just long enough for a desperate gasp of air before tumbling under again. Now I know how laundry must feel in a front-load washer, except that the walls of a front-load washer drum are at least relatively smooth! Stone washing may be cool for jeans, but not so good for shins and kneecaps. Somehow, I managed to hang onto my paddle throughout the ordeal, which is a very good thing. It did escape me a time or two, but I always managed to grab it again before it got out of my reach.

As the current tossed me helplessly about, I had the presence of mind to worry about dashing my head against one of those jagged boulders. Had that happened, things might have gotten seriously ugly. Equally worrisome was the realization that my strength was failing me from the exertions of trying to steady myself. The longer I tumbled about, the more powerless I became to regain control. Fortunately, I cleared the rocks just then and floated into a river trough that was so deep that I could no longer touch bottom with my feet at all, but at least it was calm and, thankfully, I was wearing my life preserver. I bobbed there, limp in the water, allowing myself to slowly float downstream while I caught my breath and collected my wits.

Not long afterward, my feet touched ground again. In the meantime, Michael had caught up with our canoe and one of the guides helped him to right it, after which we pulled it to shore and collapsed in the tall grass. My knees and shins looked like something out of Mel Gibson's "The Passion Of The Christ".

Now here I sit, bruised, scabby and sore, but happy to be here to tell the tale. Here are a few tips for anyone who may someday decide to go canoeing, especially in a fast-flowing river, from one who's learned from his mistakes:

Try to place any belongings that you bring along in water-tight bags, preferably something that can be clipped, tied or otherwise attached to the canoe in some fashion.

If you capsize, don't panic. It will happen from time to time, just as skiers or snowboarders will wipe out from time to time, but it needn't be traumatic unless you lose control of the situation. Keep your head about you. DO hang onto your paddle, DO NOT worry about the canoe. The canoe may float downstream a ways but it likely won't go very far, especially if it's water-logged. You can catch up with it later. If you've attached your belongings to it as I suggested, you'll catch up with them too. Your paddle, on the other hand may quickly disappear downstream and you'll need it.

Deceptively Strenuous Pastimes

I'm a pretty sedentary guy. To begin with, I'm a computer programmer/analyst by profession, so I spend my working days behind a keyboard or sitting in requirements meetings. The most exercise I ever get at the office is when I need to walk down to the factory floor to check something.

My leisure time hobbies are no more active. I'm not into contact sports, or sports of any kind, really. I don't jog. I seldom swim and I don't go skiing or ice skating in the winter time. I like to "plunk around" on my computer, watch DVD movies, read, build models and miniatures and just relax in general. Nothing too strenuous.

I've tried two activities that have fooled me. Both sounded pretty layed back and low-stress, and both turned out to be deceptively tiring.

The first is golf. Golf doesn't look too strenuous to a spectator; a leisurely walk around a well-manicured course, a little fresh air and sunshine, and once in a while you whack a little white ball with a stick. Heck, one usually doesn't even walk from one hole to the next. One usually rides in a little electric car. How hard can that be?

Plenty hard, as it turns out! By the sixth hole, I practically fell to my knees and worshipped before the beer cart that showed up every two or three holes or so! Ten bucks a beer? Such a deal! Five bucks for a can of Coke? A bargain at twice the price! Hand it over with all speed! In my own defense, it was a particularly hot summer afternoon.

It probably didn't help that I couldn't swing to save my life. At each hole I had to swipe at the ball several times before ever making contact. That really tires out the arms! Once I did connect with the ball, I tended to take the scenic route from the tee to the hole, what with short distances, wild hooks and slices, and the inevitable stick-handling the ball across the green in a manner that would have made Gordie Howe jealous. All that walking about wore me down as well. I think my handicap is somewhere around three hundred. Since then, I've stuck to the type of golf that you see to your left.

Last weekend, I tried my hand at the second deceptively placid outdoor pastime; canoeing. When I think of canoeing, I picture a boat, silently gliding through gentle waters, the silence broken only by birdsong, the whir of distant insects and the gentle splash made by the the tips of my oars as they dip in and out of the water. Boy, was I in for an education!

My wife, Judy, my daughter, Jessica and I joined several family members last weekend for a canoe trip down southwestern Ontario's Grand River. There were fifteen of us, occupying seven canoes. The other canoes were occupied by two people each, but Judy, Jessica and I made a threesome. This turned out not to be a very good idea, as I shall shortly explain.

Our 20 kilometer course took us downstream on the Grand River, beginning in Cambridge, Ontario and ending in Paris. The estimated time for completing this was 5 hours. There were shorter runs available which might have been more appropriate for beginners such as us, but my brother-in-law, Shane "Iron Man" Groleau, insisted that anything worth doing is worth doing to exhaustion.

I had foolishly chosen the tiller's position in the rear of our canoe, which made it my job to steer. I had been given rudimentary instructions about how to do a "J" stroke and how to use my oar as a rudder, dragging it through the water on one side of the canoe or the other in order to turn the craft's nose. I had not been warned, however, about the overriding effects of wind and current. I also kept overcompensating, and learned the hard way that, if I waited until the nose of the boat was pointed in the desired direction before removing my oar from the water, it (the nose) had a disturbing tendency to continue to drift over, past the point at which I wanted to aim the canoe. And so my craft zig-zagged back and forth across the stream while I madly switched the oar from the left side to the right and back again, quickly tiring out my arms in the process.

It also didn't help that Grand River becomes quite shallow and rocky at certain points and, because of the extra weight in our three-person canoe, the boat's hull sat deeper in the water than most and kept getting lodged against the rocks. Repeatedly attempting to push and pry our craft away from the rocks with my oar did nothing to sooth my tired arms. In fact, by the time we'd reached the half-way mark for our course, my right forearm kept cramping up every time I bent my elbow.

At one point, the current washed us up against one of the many rocks while the canoe was turned sideways. The sudden stop caused the canoe to list heavily against the rock and, before I knew it, we were all swimming (or, rather, wading) in the river.

Things happen very fast when a canoe overturns. Your first priority is to grab the oars and any other loose items that were in the boat before they're swept away by the current. Your second priority is to grab the canoe itself before it floats away. Ensuring that everyone is still alive and intact becomes the third priority. It's pretty much every man for himself.

Righting and re-entering an upset canoe also proved to be a challenge. First of all, the boat had taken on water when it overturned, so we first needed to empty it. This involved picking it up out of the water, turning it upside-down in order to empty it and then putting it back into the water upright. Canoes are generally designed to be fairly light-weight, but a water-logged one can get pretty darned heavy!

Once the empty canoe was placed back into the river, it immediately wanted to float away on us with the current. Now we had to try to keep it from drifting away and steady it as much as possible whilst climbing back in without upsetting it yet again, all of which required far more dexterity than I normally possess.

During our run, were only dumped into the river once, although I did have to step out of the boat in a more controlled manner several times in order to help dislodge it from various rocks. Fortunately, Shane partially redeemed himself by thoughtfully staying close to us and stopping to help dislodge and then steady our canoe while I climbed back in whenever we got stuck. By the time we finally reached the end of our course, the first of our group of boats to arrive had been waiting for us to return for almost an hour. If we'd been just a little longer, I'm sure they'd have sent out a search party.

By the next morning, every movement hurt. Riding in a canoe is one of those activities that employs muscles which many of us didn't even know we had until they begin aching.

Mark Twain once described golf as "A good walk spoiled". If he had ever ridden in a canoe, as opposed to those Mississippi steamers for which he was known, he might have referred to canoeing as "A good boat ride spoiled". On the other hand, looking back on the experience with the benefit of hindsight, I must admit that it was fun, overall, and there were brief moments, when the water became calm and the screaming stopped and the only sound was the chirping of birds in the trees that surrounded the river, the distant buzzing of insects and the gentle lapping of water against the boat and the oars, that I could imagine myself actually learning to enjoy this.