Reflections

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It has been two months now since I reached home. It has taken me until now to be able to shape some closing remarks about my arrival because I have been struggling to figure out what to write and what this journey means to me. I reached Rothesay on the 14th of August, 2012, to be greeted by family and friends waiting and cheering for me. It felt surreal, the last portion of my trip I paddled through home waters in which every day revealed memories from past adventures. I sprinted to shore at the end, excited and perhaps a little bewildered to be literally within a kilometre from my house after paddling from Thunder Bay. I made it. Hugs, kisses and handshakes. Laughter, tears and smiles. That is what I remember now of my arrival. I felt great. I was tanned, in shape, and confident in who I was and what my purpose was.

And then, just like that, the journey was over. Reaching Rothesay meant that I had achieved my goal, completing a hundred and six day solo paddle that was three thousand, three hundred kilometres long and spanned across three provinces. People ask me how I managed to do such a seemingly difficult feat. To be honest, as much as it was a challenge, I have found my return to Thunder Bay to be much more difficult for now I wake up without a clear purpose and journey. While paddling, there was no question that what I was doing was worthwhile. The meaning was inherent in the journey. It was entirely hedonistic and meditative; the biggest worry was what the weather would do or what I would eat that night, both problems being very easily solved. Now as I slip back into my life I realize that that is what I want to try and create. A life where its meaning isn’t questioned. Where I feel fulfilled, complete with my life and everything that comes with it.

I realize now that being alone is easy compared to balancing work, school, relationships and personal needs. Because of this I have definitely felt lost and unsettled. Sleep hasn’t come easy and some days have melted away in bed or on the computer. I felt the need to distance myself somehow and come back into life slowly. I decided to opt out of Facebook, and shrink my sphere of social interaction to a small bubble of friends and family. It is only now, almost two months after I arrived, that I feel ready to share what this trip meant to me.

Being alone with my mind was indeed a scary idea. It was certainly not always comfortable, however at the same time I believe it was one of the most worthwhile and meaningful things that I have ever done. I know who I am now on a deeper and more profound level than before. I know what makes me happy and what frustrates me to a breaking point. I know my limits, for there were moments where I found myself well past them. I know my body and my soul, and I know what they need to feel healthy and strong. I know that I always want to seek new experiences and for adventure to continue to play big role in my life. I know now what is important and what can be done without. I believe that the spirit of adventure, in whatever form it manifests itself, is what is needed to feel whole.

I want to thank the people who have shared this experience with me. Thank you for reading my writing, for giving me shelter, food and hospitality, for showing kindness to a stranger, for writing emails and letters of encouragement, for coming out and seeing me off, or for being there when I arrived. It was all these things and more that made my journey worth it. Too you, the people who made it so, I am so grateful.

I hope to keep writing in the future, although in what capacity I am not sure. I have been talking to friends about more ideas and journeys to keep the spirit of adventure alive and when they come to fruition I will be sure to share them with you.

Yours in adventure,

Jonathan A. Hollway

Rivière-du-Loup – Bouctouche

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The ocean has been my home now for almost a month. I wake daily to gaze upon her and wonder whether if today she will calm and docile, or angry and violent. She has shown me mostly her good side I believe. Swapping stories with fisherman I have heard tales which reaffirm that I have been extremely fortunate to have steered clear of any major weather.

Perry Durelle, a mackerel fisherman and nephew of the renowned boxer, Yvon Durelle, saw me crossing Miramichi Bay and at first mistook me for a moose. I saw Perry, gunning his fishing boat directly at me and at first mistook his intentions, wondering if this boat was coming to run me over. At what seemed like the last minute to a guy in a kayak being chased by a 42 foot fishing boat, he turned aside and came to talk, wanting to make sure that this kayaker so far from shore was ok. Later that day, Perry told me of his uncanny ability to tell a man’s character in the first five minutes. Apparently I passed the test as I was brought by boat with kayak in tow to Escuminac. We sat and drank beer, and he told me stories of the ocean. He told me how quickly storms can arise in August around that area. Wind powerful enough to bend lighthouses in two, to send trailers sailing into the ocean and to rip up the thick beds of peat moss and throw them into the air. Squalls can come out of nowhere he said, and urged caution upon me. It was welcome advice and will be heeded. I left the Durelles after a shower and dinner, with bottles of moose meat, mackerel, and striped bass to make sure I would be well fed in the coming days. Not only that, but he even motored me up the coast in his fishing boat, to where I would have made it that day if I had been paddling. Cheating? Maybe, but it was worth it to talk to a man who had spent his life upon the sea.

Let’s back up a little bit, it has been over three weeks since I have last written and so much has happened.

I was not even on the water yet when I saw the first whale. Looking out from the ferry terminal in Riviere-Du-Loup we could see a pod of whales as white as snow breaching no more than a half kilometer from shore. Belugas. In pods of three or four they made their way upriver, much to the delight of everyone waiting for the ferry. My boat being packed, I said goodbye to my parents and immediately paddled out to where they had last been seen. The wind roared down the St. Lawrence that day, carrying me along up the coast. The excitement of the seeing the whales started to fade now, being only three feet off the water, I couldn’t see far and the whitecaps that covered the sea played tricks on the eyes. Soon enough however, I found myself seeing belugas albeit from a distance. Their perfect whiteness seemed out of place, like patches of snow at the end of a winter. From directly behind me I heard an escape of air, a giant breath, and as I turned I saw the arc of a whale directly in line with my kayak. It passed from stern to bow, large enough that looking down I could see it on either side of my kayak and close enough that I could see its eyes looking up at me. I started reading Moby Dick that day.

That was the only day I was lucky enough to paddle with the belugas, but it left an impression and gave me motivation for the days to come. The Gaspe was strikingly beautiful. Rolling hills gave way to the Chic-Choc mountains that towered over the sea, sometimes forcing even the road to be built out onto the ocean. Little villages dot each river mouth, remnants of the fishing communities that once thrived on these shores. The houses are colourful, living close to the ocean seems to be reason enough to paint a house bright pink, purple, blue or green with a bold trim. I was often subject to strong winds, big waves and weather as the north coast of the Gaspe peninsula is very exposed.

Passing through Forillon National Park marked a large turning point. Towering cliffs, dating back some 500 million years jut out over the ocean, creating a dramatic landscape that would not look out of place in Thailand. Fields of raspberry bushes surround the interpretive center, somehow untouched by the many visitors walking around. I however, had no qualms about stepping off of the boardwalk and gorging myself, sometimes filling my hat before sitting down and enjoying the tart sweetness of wild raspberries. Seals sun bathed at the base of the cliffs, lazing about and barking at each other. Soon enough they were surrounding my boat, almost daring each other to see how close they could get before I noticed. Their white and grey bodies shone like ghosts in the clear blue water as they shot like rockets underneath and around my boat, foiling my attempts to photograph them every time. I was headed south now and New Brunswick was only days away.

I crossed to Miscou Island, New Brunswick from Newport, Quebec on a hazy, calm morning, taking advantage of a short window before the afternoon southerlies picked up. It was odd at first, as Miscou Island is so low-lying that it was not visible until three hours into the crossing. I was simply paddling towards a seemingly empty horizon, far away from the safety of the shoreline. The crossing, which had been on my mind for a long while was surprisingly easy and after six hours I reached the sandy shores of New Brunswick. It felt good to, after ninety days, have reached my home province.

The north coast of New Brunswick is a beach-goers paradise with warm water and sand beaches as far as the eye can see. For a kayaker however, the endless dunes and dominant south winds make for long, hard days as there are no landmarks to mark one’s progress with. A stiff south wind makes it especially tedious. There has been many occasions where to my frustration, I am passed by people going for leisurely walks on the beach. Nothing is worse than the feeling of being out paced by a group of middle-aged women going for their evening stroll.

So the breaks I have had are what have made this stretch of coast bearable. Yesterday, as I passed Bouctouche I remembered that Alex Irving, an old highschool friend, has a summer home on these shores. I soon recognized it from the water and as I pulled onto the beach Lynne, Alex’s mother, came down to the beach for a swim. Before I could say hello, she had gone back up to the house. Now you can imagine my predicament, following her back up from the beach to her house to introduce my self unexpectedly after many years, heavily bearded and with unkempt hair. Soon enough, dogs were barking and startled faces looked out the window. In Lynne’s words, “A strange man came to my bedroom window looking like Tom Hanks out of Castaway.” The hilarious encounter soon was sorted out and it turns out that not only was a large part of their family there for the weekend, Alex was coming up later that day. This unplanned visit has been great, a chance to relax for a day with great food and company and reminisce about the glory days of high school.

Now, only nine days and three hundred kilometers from home, it is hard to stay focused. If I wanted, I could be home in two hours. Tomorrow or the next day I will be biking across to Moncton, and starting the last leg of my journey, the Bay of Fundy. I know these waters well, having guided there for three years, so it will be a fun time paddling old waters with new eyes. More than anything however, at this stage of the game I am just excited to be home.

Ottawa – Rivière-du-Loup

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I have been on this expedition now for seventy five days during which I have paddled over 2300 kilometers. Counter to my expectations, as I approach the last third of this trip my kayak feels almost comfortable, the kilometers pass with ease and days seem to fly by, sometimes blurring together to the point where I cannot even remember the day of the week or how long it has been since I passed Montreal. My life and this journey have melded to the point where I sometimes forget that this trip will have an end. I find myself surprised that this trip does in fact have an end and that is almost as worrisome as it is something to look forward to. Almost.

These past two weeks have been really special. I have found my groove averaging fifty kilometers a day due to good weather, tailwinds and the current of the St. Lawrence. I left Ottawa on Canada Day and that night after being surrounded by jubilant sea-dooers and powerboat enthusiasts all day I was treated to not one, but a multitude of Canada Day’s firework displays within one town. Soon enough I found myself passing through Montreal, meeting up with some friends who provided me with montreal bagels, sherbet and company in Atwater Market. Passing through the locks in the Lachine Canal was extremely significant as once below Montreal the river now runs unimpeded by man, racing at astounding speeds in its descent to the ocean. It runs so fast that paddling over 10km/h became common and at one point I hit a record high of 23km/h, and a day long total just shy of eighty kilometers. From this point on, I would be travelling on the “Fleuve” as many Quebecois affectionately call the St. Lawrence River, the waterway that directly connects Thunder Bay to the ocean.

I found myself using french way more than I had anticipated, a definite highlight of this trip. In my opinion Quebec is so far ahead of the rest of Canada in respect to creating tourism infreastructure promoting human powered travel. Bike lanes and trails are everywhere spanning the entire province as well as a maritime trail following both sides of the St. Lawrence ensuring campsites and facilities for paddlers in urban and settled areas. Quebec hospitality has been so welcoming, I ended up staying with two paddlers who I met on the water who gave me a warm bed, hot shower and lobster dinner! Passing fisherman have supplied me with beer and having poutine shacks lining the banks has ensured I get enough calories every day.

The ocean, in some visceral sense,  feels like home. It contains more life than any lake, being home to a vast array of sea creatures. Fat seals lazily lie about on rocks and Beluga whale sightings are almost assured in the next couple of days. To paddle on the ocean is to interact with this life force and at any moment an unexpected marine wildlife encounter could occur, a welcome change after the river systems I have been travelling on. For the days leading up to my arrival to the ocean, I would dip my fingers in the water and bring them to my mouth, checking sometimes every hour for a hint of salt. For a while, all I tasted was the somewhat unpleasant river water of the St. Lawrence but then there it was, a hint of saltiness brought in on the high tide, a small token of what was to come. It was this moment in which I knew I wanted to revert to my original plan of paddling around the Gaspe instead of down the St. John River. It would feel anticlimactic to leave the ocean after only three days of paddling. That decision means that as of today there are just over a thousand kilometers to go still, placing me at home roughly August 15th. Doing the route I originally had planned feels right however, and the challenges of paddling around one of the windiest, most exposed coastlines on the eastern seaboard is something I am looking forward to.

So here I am, in Riviere-du-Loup with my parents who have driven up from Rothesay to see me. A six hour drive for them hilariously equates to a month long paddle for me. Food has been packed for the next two weeks, another patch was put on my boat, and a days rest with great food was well received. When perusing the liquor store for a bottle to keep me company, I was drawn to one with a boat on it, appreciating the nautical theme. Reading the label of Cutty Sark, I was astounded when it read “The spirit of adventure lives in us all. It is the courage of our convictions, the mark of true character and the desire to be different.” Obviously the right choice for this trip. So from the coast of the Atlantic, cheers to you all.

North Bay – Ottawa

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Damn. Dams. Portages. Dammed Portages. Damn dams. After North Bay, I entered a waterhshed completely managed and controlled by people. Reservoirs and hydroelectric dams alternate down from the bottom of the Mattawa river to the city of Ottawa. That being said, it has been fun figuring out ways to get around them, as dams are not always made with the intention of giving paddlers a quick way around. I have hopped a couple fences, paddled through “do not enter” buoys and carted my boat many kilometers down backroads and through downtown ottawa. Crossing a crosswalk with an 18 foot boat definitely drew a couple looks. Although dams and portages were a main component of the past two weeks, I definitely had some pretty hilarious encounters with people as well.

Cooking a dubious looking boil-in-the-bag beef and mushroom stew that I had found at a campsite earlier that day, I sat looking out over Lake Champlain. Lake Champlain is a man made reservoir at the bottom of the Mattawa River that is teeming with houseboats, sea-doos and cottages. It had been a long day, with nine rapids or waterfalls that I had either lined, ran, portaged or carted around. Long enough to make this brown mess of a meal look mildly appetizing. As I struggled to get through bites of bland beef and what I think were indeed mushrooms, I began to hear laughter, music and the sound of a two stroke engine getting louder and louder from around the point. Three houseboats lashed side by side came motoring by, each equipped with a smoking barbeque, numerous coolers filled to the brim and fishing rods equipped with lures resembling large iguanas which I would later learn were for musky. My wave was returned, the motor cut out and a call came over the water.

“Hey,” they yelled, “would you like a burger?”

As if that is even a question. Even if there had of been banjo music I would have said yes. I quick ditched what was left of my dinner for whatever creature was unfortunate enough to find it and hopped aboard. Five minutes later I found myself sitting on a houseboat with beer in one hand, remnants of a burger in the other, cruising down Lake Champlain with my sea kayak bobbing along behind like a sullen pack mule. I traded stories of my adventure for beer, and it soon became apparent that I was to stay with them that night, to be treated to true Mattawa hospitality.

The next morning after a great big breakfast of back bacon and eggs my hosts pressed upon me a half chicken, some potatoes and even a fishing rod to replace the one I left behind in North Bay. Sweating out my hangover, I portaged around a dam in the town of Mattawa into the fast flowing current of the Ottawa River. It felt great to be on a bigger body of water after the narrow Mattawa and French rivers. Late that afternoon the clouds darkened behind me. Sheets of rain swept down the Ottawa Valley, pouring harder and harder. I hadn’t seen a campsite for miles. Thunder and lightning started crashing overhead, too close to be comfortable on the water. Of course my jacket was packed away in the front of my boat. Then, through the rain I saw a small collection of trailers on the Ontario side. Paddling closer, people started waving to me, beckoning for me to come in and get shelter under their trailer canopies. Gratefully I pulled my boat ashore and dashed up the bank, soaked to the bone from the storm. It was as is someone had pressed repeat. Within minutes, I was set up with a beer, had been given a trailer to sleep in for the night, three pickerel to filet and fry as well as free reign to use to their motorboat to go fishing. They were headed into town for the night as it was Sunday but they told me I was more than welcome to make myself at home, just to leave the place as I left it. What a rarity! What an example of genuine hospitality! After an hour of knowing me, I had the keys to the whole place, food, drink and shelter. I had an amazing dinner of fresh pickerel, potatoes, carrots and onions all fried to perfection.

The next day as I paddled down the Ottawa I spotted a small collection of trailers on the riverbank. I laughed, thought about extending the Mattawa Trailer Park Tour yet the river and the miles still unpaddled called my name. I passed it by.

It felt good to be going down the Ottawa. Sometime in the past two weeks I passed the halfway mark. This trip has been going for two months now so knowing I am closer to home than to where I began is exciting. Each two weeks I believe I learn something new which I then attempt to convey through writing. These past two weeks are no different. Yesterday I had the opportunity to do an phone interview for a new brunswick magazine as well as record an interview with someone here in Ottawa. Being asked questions about myself and this trip was  a great way to bounce ideas around that I hadn’t previously had the opportunity to do.

I talked about what it has been like to be alone for this amount of time, and out of that came an idea I have been trying to put into words. I have found the absence of distractions has allowed me to be alone with my mind, something that is both scary and liberating. There are no buffers between my thoughts and emotions and their impact on me, no diversions to make difficult moments easier. The hardest moments have been leaving places where I have started becoming comfortable. I spent last weekend at Esprit Rafting, guiding and partying with people I hadn’t seen in way too long. After three days there, it begin to feel natural, comfortable even, and the temptation to stay and work grew. I had to pack up and go, leaving that comfort behind. For some reason, that was the hardest day mentally of the trip. I questioned myself, and the reasons why I am doing this trip. Why not stay and work? Feelings of self doubt and loneliness crept in my mind as I paddled.

Being stuck in my kayak with no distractions allowed me to realize that in our lives we shelter ourselves from much of our emotion. Human beings are capable of feeling so much, yet attempt to avoid for the most part the lower half of that emotional spectrum-loneliness, sadness, anger, confusion. Those emotions make up an important part of being human and for me it was liberating to examine and accept those feelings.

On a completely different note, I want to announce a change in my plans that I am extremely excited about. While doing research for this expedition, I came across Zac Crouse, a musician and paddler who last summer paddled and biked from Ottawa to Halifax. I got in touch with him recently and he has agreed to lend me his homemade kayak carrying bike trailer. So, instead of going around the Gaspe Peninsula, I am going to bike across it to the headwaters of the Saint John river where I will put in and paddle down to my home. This is the traditional trade route, which is appealing for it means I will have followed that traditional route from Thunder Bay to Saint John. It saves me 800km allowing me to get home earlier and spend more time at home before returning to Thunder Bay. Also, my legs are already excited to get out of a kayak and change it up for a couple days!

It was great talking to Zac, whose trip gave me motivation to launch my own. He is currently finishing a documentary on the trip which will be called Paddle to the Ocean which is going to be released in the spring. Trailers can be seen on vimeo here.

Well, it is Canada Day and I am in Ottawa. Fitting. Hopefully I see some fireworks from the water tonight.

-J

Sault Ste. Marie – North Bay

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The great lakes are behind me. That thin blue line that marks a distant, invisible horizon is now absent, replaced by the enclosed feeling of Eastern Ontario’s rivers. Gone are the large swells and caribou and endless, uninhabited shorelines. I am now in the land of cottages, 3g service, seadoos and motorboats.

It was an interesting phenomenon at first; being closer to people yet travelling alone makes one feel more lonely than when no one is around. The fact that I could get cell service almost everywhere left me in a wierd state of quasi-connectedness. I spent my days passing couples and families at their cottages, enjoying each other’s company as I paddled by and have had many an opportunity to perfect the boater wave, as boats seem to whiz by me on a regular basis.

Approaching Little Current, I saw two people sitting on a dock attempting to touch up an old model lighthouse with what appeared to be white rust paint and a can of red spraypaint. Two dogs sat beside them and from the looks of the red and white in their fur, they were actively participating.

It is always tough to intrude but I decided to say hello, tell them about my trip and ask if they knew anywhere in the area where there was a place to camp. Their reply was “I’m not sure, but would you like a beer?” Well, after a long day on the water, how could I refuse? I ended up staying for a beer or four which soon turned into an invitation for dinner, the hottest sauna I have ever experienced, a fireworks display and a bonfire. All of this from people who, only hours before, I had never met. It filled part of the trip for me that was missing, and that is what I want to try and clumsily express-how this trip has been fueled by the beautiful hospitality of strangers.

The next morning I felt like I wanted to give back in some way, so I decided to do the only thing I could think of- try and catch breakfast. Luck was with me, and within twenty minutes I was waking people up excited waving around what probably will be the fish of this trip-a steelhead that must have been pushing ten pounds. Kyle scrounged up some cedar shingles and we had a brunch of champions-planked steelhead on the barbeque with bacon eggs and rum.

It was hard to leave, as they were staying another night and extended the opportunity for me to do the same. At three o’clock, my hangover had finally started to wane so I packed up and paddled away, laughing at the never ending stream of goodbyes that carried out over the water and bolstered by the past 24 hours of cottage life. Soon enough they zoomed past me in their boat, doing donuts around my kayak, laughing and taking pictures.

Since then I have been more prone to stop in and say hello to people along the way. I have learned that I sometimes create negative scenarios in my head that keeps me from approaching people I don’t know. With that realization, I have challenged myself to do it anyways and it has been rewarding. It has become fun to share my story with people. The most common reaction I get is “Wow, I wish I could do a trip like that.” To that I respond that you can. Anyone can. This trip arose out of an idea that I forced into reality by vocalizing it. Your adventure can and will happen the same way. Tell someone you are going to do something you really want to do. Then tell someone else. Eventually a support system builds around you to the point where it become impossible NOT to do it. You will be amazed by the support that you will receive from those around you and as I have found out, from people along the way.

One of this journey’s biggest goals was to remove that barrier of glass and metal that can isolate us much of the time travelling. The removal of that barrier has help foster connections that I did not even see coming and I believe makes traveling more rewarding.

I am also starting to notice the lack of detail planning I have done for this trip, as little hiccups arise along the way. Fortunately these hiccups have turned into the highlights of my trip. Whether it was dragging a fully laden sea kayak up what I should have known was a dry channel on the French River or realizing that at seven o’clock at night in North Bay I had no idea where I was going to stay, sometimes not knowing is better than knowing. Maybe it is in those moments of not knowing, that the true spirit of adventure is hiding, waiting to be found.

To those who have been there along the way with showers, beds, beer and food, thank you.

Yours in adventure,

Jonathan

Marathon – Sault Ste. Marie

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I ‘pee’d my boat’ for the first time on my last day paddling on Lake Superior. I see it as a badge of honour, a rite of passage, an act committed when all other options had expired.

The wind was up, howling from the north-west and had been blowing for some time. All night as my tent shook I could hear the surf getting angrier and louder. I couldn’t sleep; convinced the water was getting closer, I got up and made sure my boat was still there. When morning came, it felt right for the lake to be in full fury, reminding me that although a warm shower awaited me 40 kilometers away, I was not home-free yet.

Things started out rough. Launching off a rocky beach into pounding surf, my water bottle was ripped off my deck within seconds. Wave after wave crashed over my head, somehow managing to sneak in an improperly closed drytop. I left Goulais Point, opting for a longer yet direct crossing that would take me closer to the mouth of the St. Marys River where I hoped to find shelter. Upon reaching the far shore it soon became clear that there was going to be no such luck, as the coast consisted of boulders and rocks exposed to the full force of the lake. It also became quite clear that the uncontrollable need to urinate was not going to go away anytime soon, a significant problem for one trapped in a kayak wearing pants designed to keep water out and, presumably, in. So, not quite committed to turning my pants into a impromptu hot water bottle, I somehow managed a one-handed low brace to stay upright in the waves as I ripped off my sprayskirt and fumbled through too many layers of clothing. It was getting desperate. Summoning my utmost streaming power, I tried to direct the flow up and out of my boat. For the first couple seconds it worked, but soon I gave in to the realization that I was going to have to suck it up and pee in my boat.  Immediate relief was quickly followed by laughter, and then it was back to paddling in the big swells.

Like the act of peeing in my boat, I have found Lake Superior humbling. The lake has a heart and mind of its own, capable of producing calm water, raging waves, sunshine, thunderstorms in one day. In the thirty days I have spent on the lake, it has shown me glimpses of its natural order. Whether it was a bald eagle hunting down seagulls or the bizarre sight of a flock of swans paddling calmly in waves that made me nervous, it was humbling to be a part of the power and beauty of that world.I started to understand the loon calls and gull cries, whether they were alerting each other of an incoming eagle or trying to impress a mate. It felt good.

A highlight of the past two weeks was having my father along from Pic River to Old Woman Bay. For ten days we shared a dubiously small two person tent, sleeping much of the time head to toe to try and gain a little more shoulder space to little effect. It was pretty special to paddle a coastline vaguely familiar from when we traveled it over ten years ago. Many of my childhood memories took place there. Beaches had changed shape, islands had become part of the land, yet the spirit of Pukaswka and that whole coast remains the same. We soon established an unspoken routine. By the time I got out of the tent in the morning, breakfast and coffee would be ready. By the time he would get out of his drysuit in the evening, I would have the tent set up and be starting on supper. Everything just worked. We drank scotch and rye, yelled obscenities at the unreasonable amount of early summer black flies, pulled hard into headwinds and braced hard with tailwinds. When the weather didn’t co-operate and we were wind-bound, we baked brownies and coffeecake. Eventually the time came to go separate ways. It was pretty wonderful and unique to simply hug goodbye on the water and take off diverging vectors, slowly watching each other get smaller and smaller as he paddled into Old Woman Bay and I cut across. Having such a wonderful partner has made paddling solo challenging since we split ways, so thank you, Dad, for coming and taking part in this adventure.

To close off, I want to share some thoughts about water. Since Silver Islet, I have been drinking mostly unfiltered, untreated water straight from the lake and have experienced no adverse side effects whatsoever. That is probably over now. Paddling into the Sault it was hard to see the steel mill that bordered right on the river. The wind blew the smoke in my direction, triggering my asthma and making my eyes water. Beside the mill, trucks and conveyer belts moved different piles of aggregate, and the wind blew these particles into the water. Having lost my water bottle that morning I had been using a cup and dipping directly into the lake. As I got closer and closer to the mill, I couldn’t bring myself to drink the water any longer and I put the cup away probably for the last time on this trip, choosing to go thirsty instead. How could such a huge change occur in merely forty kilometres? As the saying goes, shit flows downhill, and I am no longer at the top.

That being said, this trip is about to shift gears. Along with the coming change in water quality comes a change in dynamic. As I paddle into Georgian Bay, I leave behind the isolated wilderness and start entering a more populated area of our country. Part of me wishes this wasn’t the case but it will be a totally different challenge. Navigating rivers and through increasingly populated areas brings with it unique opportunities. As well, going on a month now of very little contact with people, I am really looking forward to seeing friends at Esprit, in Ottawa and in Montreal. As well, a HUGE thank you to Nancy, Luis, Dustin, Naturally Superior Adventures, and the Wilson family for being amazing hosts on my stops along the way.

Naturally Superior Adventures did a short writeup and took some great photos that can be seen here.

Here are some pictures that give a glimpse into the past two weeks. My dad has also uploaded some pictures to this web album.

Thunder Bay-Marathon

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7

Yesterday, I found myself leaning into a wind that was constantly threatening to flip me over if I was not careful. I was paddling strenuously into Marathon Harbour, trying to remain calm in waves that loomed well over my head. This was the last of many crossings I had undertaken between Thunder Bay and it seemed the big lake was not letting me finish this first leg of my trip without one last battle. My head was full of mixed feelings- thoughts about coming out of the wilderness after not seeing a single soul for five days, thoughts about the next leg of this journey that I am embarking on with my father and, foremost, thoughts about how in the world I was ever going to write anything on my blog after my talented sister wrote such a heartfelt and beautiful post. Lara has an incredible ability to express the wisps of ideas that seem to, for me, slip away as I try and wrestle them into words. Thank you sister of mine for putting eloquently what I could only express as a catchphrase, and for creating a beautiful and meaningful start to my journey.

What a start it was! After saying goodbye to friends and family, the paddle away from Thunder Bay was one of the most surreal experiences of my life. It was a moment that for some reason seemed to exist solely in the future. As it dawned on me that the day had really arrived and that for the next four months that this was to be my life, a “grin so wide that it hurt” spread across my soon to be sun-burnt face. Little did I know what that first day would have in store for me…

In the last four kilometers of what had been a calm, glassy eighteen kilometer crossing across Thunder Bay, the weather took a turn for the worse and punished me for taking the time earlier in the day to figure out how pee from a kayak-a useful yet time consuming activity. The skies turned dark and soon a fierce headwind was upon me. As the sleeping giant seemed to suddenly freeze in the distance, I watched my GPS constantly as the distance remaining to shore slowly ticked down. 2.01km, 2.00km and then finally to 1.99km! It was going to be a long day. An hour and a half later, my muscles burning and my stomach empty I chose the first campsite I came to even though it lacked any resemblance of a beach to land my shiny new composite kayak.  As I started unloading my boat standing in the water, I discovered my back hatch had been leaking all morning, a trend that would continue for the next two weeks. Pulling out soggy lentils, rice, minestrone soup mix made me curse my choice of ziploc bags. There was nothing else to do but brew up a stew composed of all those soggy bits of my supper staples. I had what will surely be one of the more memorable meals of my trip for all the wrong reasons.

And the first day was not over yet. I picked up my boat to carry it over the boulder garden that bordered my campsite and, just at that moment, a strong gust of wind came roaring down and used my boat as a sail to send me stumbling. My mind raced trying to decide whether to sacrifice body or boat yet before I could decide I heard the crunch of polished gelcoat and kevlar colliding with the coarse, crystallized granite that makes up much of the Lake Superior coastline. If my boat did not leak before, it certainly did now.  Cursing, I picked my boat back up and ran into the woods to seek shelter and assess the damage. It was fixable, but there was definitely a significant crack.

I lay down to sleep that night  and to this day, two weeks later, that was the only time I have seen more than a single mosquito.  I can only imagine that Nanabijou, the Sleeping Giant known for his trickery and practical jokes, was laughing at the tired, sore, bug-bitten traveler who camped at his feet.

The next morning, I asked myself-could I do a hundred and twenty days of this? I was rattled to say the least. I made it that day to Silver Islet through thick fog and was greeted by my beautiful girlfriend who patiently helped me patch my boat, attempt to stop the leak and dry my food. A older man, the caretaker and handyman of Silver Islet, approached us and asked if I was the person who he had heard on CBC radio the day before. Confirming this, he took us through the historic village of Silver Islet, telling us tales of the past and little details of almost every home in the village. I want to extend a thank you to that man for his hospitality and to CBC for sharing my story that let people along my path know that I would be coming.

The trip has since settled into a rhythm. In the past two weeks I have been exposed to the beauty and ferocity of Lake Superior’s north shore. I have battled headwinds and waves and weather, learning the lake’s patterns yet realizing its power and unpredictability. I have caught plenty of fish most of which have been simply too big for one person to eat. Thanks to the creativity of summer boaters, I have been taking steaming hot, wood fired baths and saunas on remote islands. I have seen caribou, black bears, otters, eagles and flocks numbering potentially in the thousands of migratory ducks and geese. At times I have been freezing cold and wet, and yet still managed to burn my nose to the point of blistering. I have been scared hearing noises in the middle of the night and  have been overcome with laughter watching the lives of ducks competing for mates. I have met new people and rekindled old friendships from my childhood. As my sunburn fades and my dry-top induced hand tan grows, I can only wonder as to what will happen next. I write this in sitting in an old childhood friends living room after a day of goofing around with his soon to be three year old. We played in parks and wandered in the woods looking for the forts we built as children, which the forest seemed to have re-claimed. My boat sits outside and I can happily say that is leak-free.