Paddle your own canoe
Max Wooldridge heads for Ontario and the ultimate Canadian experience – learning how to...
IAM perched on a wooden jetty in front of my lakeside cabin, enjoying the warm autumn sunshine. I’m at Elmhirst’s Resort in the Kawarthas region of Ontario, a few hours north of Toronto. And it’s my last chance to relax for several days. A lone canoe out on nearby Rice Lake captures Canada in all its pristine glory. And it’s just such a scenario that has brought me here. You delve deep into the Canadian psyche with a canoe, and the indomitable spirit of adventure, and freedom, that it represents.
I’ve come to immerse myself in Ontario’s rich canoe culture, and learn how to paddle properly. As I ponder my challenge, a V-shaped formation of Canada geese flies over Rice Lake. ‘That’s a sign that winter is coming,’ says resort owner Greg Elmhirst.
He hails from Yorkshire farming stock who emigrated when his ancestors were given 1,000 acres of Ontario land for services in Admiral Nelson’s fleet. In the early 20th Century, Greg’s great-grandfather used the land least suited to farming to build lakeside holiday cottages.
My canoe adventure starts in nearby Peterborough. The Canadian Canoe Museum in the town showcases the vital role the canoe has played in Ontario’s history. Ironically, the world’s largest collection of paddled watercraft is located in an old outboard motor factory.
‘Oh, the stories these canoes could tell,’ says curator Jeremy Ward, showing us a battered craft used by Don Starkell and his teenage son. They paddled thousands of miles from Winnipeg to Brazil, encountering wild pigs, hungry alligators and modern-day pirates along the way.
MORE so than locomotives, wagons or steamships, it was the large fur-trade canoes that opened up Canada’s frontiers. ‘Canada’s fur-trade period was the first industry based upon cultural interaction between native people and non-native people,’ says Jeremy. ‘English, Scots, French-Canadian and Metis voyageurs and native people all worked together.’
He shows me a ‘courting canoe’ from the early 20th Century, with a phonograph in the middle. The word ‘canoodling’ could have been invented for this vessel.
It’s soon time to join a paddlecarving workshop. Museum visitors can make their own from a single piece of wood. I am immediately transported back several decades to school woodwork classes, although this is much more fun.
We measure and mark pieces of soft basswood with a pencil and ruler. Then, sitting astride a shave-horse, I fine-tune my paddle with a spoke-shave, carefully carving the shaft, blade and grip.
Three hours later, and after much sanding, my bounty lies proudly before me: a smooth 2ft mini-paddle. It will fit nicely in my luggage – the best souvenir of the week.
Next morning, I make the two-hour drive north to the Madawaska Kanu Centre. Following our experienced guide, we carry two-man fibre-glass canoes down to the water’s edge before heading out into Mud Bay. The name is misleading – the water here is crystal-clear.
It’s wholly peaceful on the water, and the rhythmic splash of our paddles is mesmeric.
We practise our newly learned stroke sequences but are later scuppered when the wind picks up. We’re soon spinning around – there’s not much to do except go where the breeze wants to take us.
We return to camp to the warm and the welcoming scent of woodsmoke. Happily, the bugs and black flies have pitched up elsewhere. After dinner, the temperature drops
so we gather around a fire. We sleep in rustic cabins, and it is quiet in the woods except for some nebulous nocturnal noises.
For the next two days, home is the fast-moving Middle Madawaska river. It flows through a forest of pines and hardwoods, with sections of rapids and eddies.
A chipmunk darts under our feet as we put on our wetsuits, helmets and lifejackets.
At the river’s edge I’m shivering – and I’m not sure whether it’s from the cold or apprehension.
FINALLY we are given some welcome advice in case we fall into the water: keep our heads up and feet facing downstream, then wait for the splash of a rescue rope.
In Mud Bay we sat on seats. Now our thighs are strapped to the canoe so we use our whole body to steer.
Afterwards, it’s only my core that’s a little sore. Maybe I’ve been canoeing right after all.
The thrilling whitewater sections will be savoured for a long time. And I still can’t quite believe that I didn’t capsize.
Each night we ease our aches in the camp’s sauna, followed by openair hot showers. After our stint in the wilds, we head to Ottawa, where skinny lattes and police sirens replace rhythmic paddling.
We explore nearby Gatineau National Park, the ByWard Market and Parliament Buildings as Canada’s capital gears up to celebrate the nation’s 150th anniversary next year.
I also walk past smiling locals promoting Ottawa Duck – amphibious vehicle tours of the city. But my heart is elsewhere, still stuck on another amphibious vessel. In fact, something the canoe museum curator said has etched in my mind.
Using a network of connecting lakes and rivers, it’s possible to paddle across the whole of Canada. You have to carry your canoe 250 times but the longest single porterage is only about 14 miles.
My adventure has given me a real taste for back-country canoeing. And it’s got me thinking about more than what to paint on my treasured mini-paddle.