Did I really do this?

Serenity is the best word to describe what you will find when you get there.

This summer I took a trip that I never thought I would ever take. Although the trip was “unplanned” on my part it certainly involved a lot of planning, thought and preparation by the organizers. And experience.

I went backcountry camping – with my family – for the first time ever.

I love to camp and have done a lot over the years, including two six-week cross-country trips and some cycle-camping. I successfully passed on this joy of sleeping in the outdoors to my children, who are doing the same with the grandchildren. For years now, all three families have become fully equipped with tents and gear. However, they have also taken camping to a higher level when they began to do back-country.

In the meantime, my camping gear had dwindled to no more than a sleeping bag and a set of dishes which I still use when I volunteer at Girl Guide camps in the summer.

So, it came as a real surprise when the kids asked me to join them on a back-country trip. The bigger surprise was that I said “yes” – especially given that I am in my mid-seventies and after all these years still harbor a fear of water and heights. On the other hand, I have never lost my desire to “challenge myself”.

Indeed, it was a “challenge”. And I survived!

Not only did I survive, but I enjoyed it. And I am proud of myself, as well as my children and grandchildren for doing it with me.

I treated the entire trip the same way as I did my recent trip to Spain with a tour company. I left the planning and logistics to the “experts”.  I simply showed up where I was supposed to be and followed instructions. I knew that it was important “not to rock the boat” – literally. I knew that canoeing requires a level head and balance in the boat.

The very first challenge was to pack light. As an experience traveller, packing light was easy for me. In this case, maybe a little too light, however. I did make one mistake and that was not bringing the right footwear – water sandals. Even though I own a pair – they were hiding in the back of my closet at home. It worked out okay in the end, as I had lightweight hikers with me. Unfortunately, they got soaked. So, when we arrived at the campsite, they spent the afternoon drying out on a sunny rock and I used that as an excuse to join them while everyone else was unpacking and setting up tents and tarpaulins etc. My excuse was “lack of experience”. So that probably wont work on the second trip – if there is ever to be one.

My second challenge was getting into the canoe without tipping it. We had successfully stowed all the gear – and there was a ton of it – into three canoes at the launching area. And now they wanted Granny to crawl over all of that gear to the front of the boat. I was terrified that the trip would end with me and the gear in the water before we even started. So, I crept on my belly, gingerly found my position, tucked my short legs under the seat and grabbed my “oar”. Thinking I had followed instructions to a T, I shouted “Steve I’m ready”. As my son-in-law instructed me what to do with that strange wooden thing in my hands, he also informed me that it is a “paddle” and not an “oar”. So far, so good! We made it across the lake with me alternating between “lily-dipping” (bad), J-stroking (good), taking a rest while Steve did all the work (not-so-good), and powering ahead as fast I could manage because “the sooner we got there the better for me” I kept thinking. Phew!

My next challenge was our first portage to get around the waterfall. Fortunately, it was a short one. We had to remove everything from the canoes, carry it all past the waterfall, and repack exactly as it was before. And crawl over it all again to get to the “bow” (see I’m learning the lingo). “Hey Steve, I’m ready – again.”

The rest should be easy I thought. Just paddle up a small river and across a small lake to the campsite. But there were a few more challenges to come. The first was the beaver dam we had to climb over. And then there were the rocks that we had to get over by getting out of the boat and walking it through. I could tell you that I learned how to white-water canoe – but you know that’s overly exaggerated. By the time we made it to the mouth of the river however, I was getting quite good at crawling on my belly (just like my dog Bailey used to do when he sneaked into our office while we were working).

What I lack for in “experience” – I make up in “competitiveness”. Once on the open waters, Steve and I paddled as hard as we could so that I could overtake my daughter and grandson. Hallelujah! We were first to land at the rocks that would be our home for the next three days. Triumphantly, I was the first to set foot on campsite 523. And I didn’t even have to crawl out of the boat since fortunately the bow beached first.

I left the rest of the logistics to the experienced crew who set up the cooking station, cleaned and secured the “bear box” and also collected and chopped firewood. I did however help set up the tarpaulin over the firepit– holding on to keep it in place as they battled the gentle winds. It was one of those times when being a “dead weight” was a benefit instead of a problem. Clearly, I hadn’t been allowed that role in the canoe.

As I said earlier, what happened next was the unpacking and setting up of our camp. I volunteered to set up the eight folding chairs, so that I could watch my hiking shoes dry out on the sunny rocks that bordered the lake. Then, I assisted my grandson with the four-man tent that we would sleep in. When that was done, I unpacked my bathing suit, so I could go watch the grandkids find the largest rocks at the edge of the site that would serve as their jumping spot for the rest of our stay.

Once we were set up – there was nothing to but sleep, eat, and “relax” for the next three days. For me that was mostly taking photographs of a huge variety of beautiful mushrooms that I wished I could eat, and/or reading a novel.

The family enjoyed the water. The grandkids spent countless hours jumping off the cliffs nearby or hiking to even higher viewpoints of the lake. The adults jumped, swam, and canoed. I on the other hand, a non-swimmer, donned a lifejacket/PFD and joined them in everything but the cliff-jumping. One beautiful afternoon, we canoed across the lake without the gear and walked a kilometer to visit the historic Calhoun Lodge and Baker Homestead.

The “tranquility” of the lake and the surrounding woods took you into a world so distant from the hassle of city life and the pressures of technology that were waiting for us on our return to reality. Hence, packing up was done with a bit of sadness for me. Given my age, and the issues that befall us when we no longer have the flexibility to bend, twist and crawl like we used to, I knew this might be my “FIRST and ONLY” back-country canoe trip – so I wanted it to last longer. So, I sat on the rock and imagined how I would portray this experience with paintbrushes and canvasses when I got home. That was my excuse for leaving the packing to the “experts” that had organized the exciting excursion for me. Unfortunately, the children and grandchildren are very efficient at their jobs and soon they were calling for Granny to crawl to the front of the canoe without tipping it again.

As I waved good-bye to the solitude of lake-life, I knew I still faced three challenges before the adventure was over. But I did it with much more confidence.

Canoeing across Little Blackstone Lake for the last time felt like I was “eating a piece of cake” – a yummy, fluffy angel-food with lemon curd filling and a light buttercream frosting. It was kind of dreamy. I felt at ease, even though challenge number two awaited us at the nearby mouth of the river.

When we got to the top of the babbling river, I was still filled with confidence. You know that feeling that you get when you put a chocolate mousse in the oven and know it will make a decadent dessert when it’s done. Needless to say, the canoe and I made it, in spite of the fact that the water rushing downstream was a little stronger than on the way up. Using the “painters” (ropes) to tow and line the canoe through those rapids and beaver dams (remember I am exaggerating this part to make myself look very “accomplished”), we arrived at the waterfall.

After our second (short) portage, the landing dock on the other side of the lake was finally in sight – tempting me to get there like the cherries on top of the Black Forest cake. But what caught me totally off-guard was the ripples on the lake created by the wind and the motorboats. Just like the frosting on that cake, they looked pretty. But they also provided my final challenge. Stay low, listen to Steve, and pray that I don’t capsize the canoe while I was white-knuckle paddling with every ounce of energy I had in me.

“We did it!!!” was the exclamation heard halfway across Blackstone Harbour as we disembarked.

An hour later, everything was back in the cars, and the three canoes tied down on top, ready for the two-and-a-half-hour trip back from Massassauga Provincial Park to Toronto. Packed among the gear was my fear and trepidation that an old lady like me could actually make the trip. Waiting at home was my trophy-to-self for overcoming the anxiety in order to have an awesome family experience. And on the studio table were the paintbrushes ready to capture the peacefulness of back-country camping. Getting away was a great way to “fill my creative cup” as well as have an “adventure of a lifetime”.  

Take time to do what makes your soul happy.

The last thing I asked Steve before we departed was “would you do it again?” He responded with a smile and a yes and asked me the same. I also responded with a wink, a mile and a “yes” – but with one small caveat – “as long as my knees are still good”.