[“Never Paddle Cold Stream in the Spring.” Kanawa: Canada’s Canoeing & Kayaking Magazine, ‘River Lore’ department, Spring 2002, pp. 60-61.]
In mid-March I get the canoes ready for the paddling season. Every April Fools Day I begin to contemplate which rivers I’ll paddle first that season. My intentions are sound, my optimism laudable, my enthusiasm overflowing. My paddling buddies, initially surprised by my spirit, join in after some grumbling about ice, snow and hypothermia. Lists of rivers come to life.
“There’ll be enough water for each of the slots at the Pulp Chute, and we haven’t run the Bad Pitch in high water for years!” Denny interjects enthusiastically. Denny is right, of course, but he’s the kayaker. Roger and I are open-boaters. “Let’s start with a smaller, friendlier run that someone hasn’t done,” I suggest. “Roger, have you done the Cold Stream?” “No,” Roger replies in his easy-going faith in the suggestion.
I’d done Cold Stream with Denny many years before, and he reminded me that at that time I had said I’d never do it again, but I’m not dissuaded by a fuzzy recollection. “It’s small but it’ll get the season’s juices flowing, and besides it’s mostly a lovely float, a good way to kick-off the year.” I couldn’t remember the details, or why I’d once condemned it.
In times like these I like to think that most of my paddling friends expect me to come up with a reasonable suggestion, but this time I didn’t. I have now come to the (tardy) conclusion that one ought not, under any circumstance, paddle a stream narrower than, say, one-and-a-half-times your height, so when you dump and fast-freeze you at least won’t have your head and feet pinned on opposite sides of the stream. Don’t do it, especially early in the season, regardless of its allure, and especially if it is the season’s first descent! I can tell you, it’s not worth it. Believe me. Okay, don’t believe me. I’ll tell you why.
Somewhere in the headwaters of every small stream is a section—in this case a mile-long section—which is a nightmare of mystery channels, a maze of rocks, and a tangle of trees, roots, and snags where water can’t find its way in any one direction for more than a couple of feet, and is insufficient to float a walnut shell or kayak, much less a canoe. The consolation is that this portion usually comes early in the trip so you still have the energy to struggle for an hour-and-a-half to advance that mile.
The enthusiasm of spring paddling can blind anyone to the rigors of a small stream! How could I have overlooked this mile of virtual stream and tangible hell? Time? Age? Was the rest of the 12 mile trip so wonderful that it was worth this initial agony? Again my answer is “No!”
Secondly, don’t trust any river with the word “cold” in it, especially in the spring. Whoever named it knew the Cold Stream was full of cold water and that an important method of increasing its heat content was to dip in human heating rods, particularly paddlers, at every opportunity, especially at impossibly steep, rocky corners with no eddies. This always leads to no good. Someone really was smart enough to call the stream what it was. Period. Stay away.
Thirdly, that small, pristine stream, bordered as it is by a lush forest of maple, hemlock, spruce and pine, will find other ways to suck any remaining energy from unwary paddlers, and especially the year’s first-descenters. Gale force winds have howled all winter, and, under a heavy mantle of white, old tree limbs, and even entire trees, have innocently given way to the force of gravity, crashing to the ground, into rivers and, occasionally, across Cold Stream.
It’s bad enough to navigate narrow, rocky channels with cold water in them, but now one or more of the narrow channels is re-defined by a strainer. The best channel is invariably plugged by the snag, so you spend more time jumping in and out of your canoe clearing strainers, or you venture into the rock garden and end up jumping in and out of your canoe anyway. On the up side—and up is the correct word—a natural strainer on a narrow stream often falls into a tree on the opposite bank allowing canoeists to get under one end or between its branches. But that stream is still looking for heat, remember? The conscientious paddler will spend even more energy to cut out a few branches to help the second guy enjoy the run. Thoughtful.
Up to this point all the obstacles placed before the paddler can be charitably referred to as “Acts of God,” making them marginally more acceptable. But the nastier stuff, the stuff of legend, not to mention a litany of expletives, is the result of a little-known interaction, usually during hunting season, between a human being and a tree.
In late fall and winter this human wanders the forests deliberately cutting down trees to fell across streams. He typically cuts a mature tree that wedges nicely, when felled, between rocks or standing trees on either bank to keep it from being washed downstream in spring flood (really nasty). The tree then becomes a very low bridge, and maybe even an alluring crossing for a bobcat or coyote which may find itself caught in a trapper’s snare. If you come upon one of these, or, in our case, half-a-dozen of these, you begin to think unhappy thoughts. More in-and-out of the canoe. More building up a sweat. Again you clear as many of these strainers as you can so the paddlers coming after you have an uninterrupted run. Very thoughtful.
Remember Denny who wanted to paddle a larger river? Trees don’t fall easily across larger rivers. And larger rivers have discernible channels and plenty of water.
I can assure you that small streams are not worth it, and unless you take pride in clearing strainers from runs, or have excess energy to share with a river, be sure not to be the season’s first person to paddle it, especially strainer-prone runs like the Cold Stream. As lovely as the stream is, don’t do it.
In a few more years be sure to remind me why I once said never to paddle the Cold Stream in the spring.
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[“Saved at Last.” Kanawa: Canada’s Canoeing & Kayaking Magazine, Fall/Winter 2000, pp. 54-56.]
SAVED AT LAST
By Andy Smith
The rivers and forests of southwestern Nova Scotia have some new allies—a scattering of protected areas, both large and small, overseen by the Protected Areas Division of the provincial Department of the Environment. Such protection not only helps to sustain the biological integrity of the region, but also makes the wilderness canoeing experience more rewarding and enjoyable.
The most comprehensive effort to protect Nova Scotia’s remaining Crown land wilderness areas is covered under the “Act to Protect Wilderness Areas in Nova Scotia” passed into law in December 1998. The act was designed to protect representative ecosystems and landscapes, unique natural features and habitats, and to maintain an area’s bio-diversity, but the act also mandates allowing for wilderness recreation. Each area is part of one or more canoe routes of interest to day paddlers or week-long trippers.
The largest and most diverse protected area is the Tobeatic Wilderness Area, which, unlike the other two, includes several wilderness canoe routes, including those involving the Shelburne River, and the upper portions of the Roseway, Jordan, Clyde, Tusket and Sissiboo watersheds.
The Tobeatic is the jewel in the crown of Nova Scotia’s wilderness areas, and with its Shelburne River recently being designated a Canadian Heritage River, it should remain so if a sound management balance can be obtained. The largest current threat to the Tobeatic’s integrity, which already demands regulatory controls, is the proliferation of all-terrain vehicles which in recent years have invaded even the most remote areas of the wilderness.
Overlapping the southern portion of the Tobeatic Wilderness Area is the 259-square-kilometer (100-square-mile) Tobeatic Wildlife Management Area, originally established in 1927, about a third the size of the Wilderness Area. About 40% of the Management Area, is owned by the Bowater Mersey Paper Company but much to its credit, Bowater Mersey was instrumental in enabling the Shelburne River to become part of the Canadian Heritage Rivers System. Where the lower Shelburne passes through company land, Bowater agreed to an expanded low-impact corridor, or buffer zone, to help protect the river’s pristine quality from the company’s forestry operations.
Together, the overlapping Tobeatic Wilderness and Wildlife Management Areas provide for most of the multi-day wilderness canoeing in the region. Of these, one of the most common routes is the 5-7 day trip from Lake Joli on the Bear River through the Shelburne River watershed into either Kejimkujik National Park or the lower Mersey River. A similar 5-7 day route begins at Sporting Lake Stream on the Sissiboo River, crosses into the upper Tusket River before joining the headwaters of the Shelburne, and again ends at either Kejimkujik or the Mersey River. Either of these routes can be expanded into a 7-10 day trip with connections from the Shelburne into the Roseway River, and if desired, from the Roseway into either the Jordan or Clyde rivers. This is Nova Scotia wilderness at its best.
At the foot of Pollard’s Falls, near the mouth of the Shelburne River, just south of the Tobeatic Wilderness Area, is one of several smaller protected areas in the region. This site, part of the non-binding International Biological Program (IBP), a program created by the United Nations in the early 1970s, is a 62 hectare reserve on both Crown and Bowater Mersey land containing some of the largest and oldest eastern hemlock in the Maritimes. The IBP site can be most easily reached by canoe from Peskawa Lake in Kejimkujik, and through Pebbleoggitch Lake into the Shelburne River. It is best paddled as a circular route, a 3-4 day loop which returns you to Kejimkujik via the Mersey River.
Another example of old growth forest in the Tobeatic can be found on Moosehead Island in Silvery Lake, part of Stoney Brook and the upper Jordan River watershed. Unlike other sites, the Moosehead Island site is not on a usual canoe route, but it can be accessed from Moose Lake on the upper Roseway and, in moderate or high water levels, can be combined with the Roseway for a 4-5 day paddle which includes the Jordan River.
Another pocket of old growth forest is in the Sporting Lake Nature Reserve at the head of Sporting Lake Stream in the Sissiboo River watershed. Now also part of the new Tobeatic Wilderness Area, the Reserve is composed of three islands on which there are stands of old-growth hemlock and white pine. A trip up Sporting Lake Stream to Sporting Lake can make an easy 2-day trip, but the route which passes the Nature Reserve is also part of the longer, well-used canoe route to Buckshot Lake and the upper Shelburne River.
A second wilderness area is the Tidney River Wilderness Area which drains most of the Sable River watershed, and encompasses all except the upper-most reaches of both the Tidney and Sable rivers. Both rivers are unique in that they drain vast areas of bog south of Lake Rossignol in Queens County, but each is a small-volume, fast run-off river best suited to early-season or high-water canoeing. Their remote wetland headwaters make them among the least accessible rivers in the region, and among the least paddled.
A third new wilderness area, Bower’s Meadows Wilderness Area, is a large wetland through which meanders Round Bay River, eventually draining into the ocean between the villages of Clyde River and Shelburne. Bower’s Meadows, by itself, is the best pure bog paddle in southwestern Nova Scotia, and can be canoed at any time of year. If combined with the lower Round Bay River, the trip involves 4-5 hours and three short Class I+ rips into the brackish lagoon at the mouth of the river.
The Indian Fields Provincial Park Reserve, another of the region’s smaller protected areas, is on the portage route from the Roseway River to the Clyde River. The Reserve includes the area around Indian Fields, Pug Lake, and portions of Clamshell and West Horseshoe lakes, all in the Roseway watershed, and Black, Auger and Sand lakes in the Clyde River watershed. The lakes in the Reserve can be paddled as day trips, or the Reserve can be crossed as part of a 10-day trip from the Shelburne and Bear rivers.
All of Southwestern Nova Scotia’s protected areas can be reached by canoe, and can involve trips ranging in length from one day to two weeks, and, with the exceptions of the Bower’s Meadows and Tidney River, can be linked by canoe routes which crisscross the Tobeatic Wilderness Area.
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