WILDERNESS CANOEING TOBEATIC STYLE
By Andy Smith

The canoeist will be able to use all the standard strokes—draw, pry, cross draw, sweep, skull, brace, back paddle, J, reverse J—to make a canoe appear to move effortlessly. He’ll be able to read moving water, ferry and use eddies. But he’s still not, necessarily, a wilderness canoeist. Wilderness canoeing, and canoeists, are different. A lot different. Let me illustrate.

On a recent multi-day trip across the Tobeatic Wilderness Area in southwestern Nova Scotia, my paddling partner and I experienced what I believe to be “real” wilderness canoeing. By no stretch of the imagination was it the life-or-death wilderness canoeing of northern Canada, or even northern Ontario. And we may not even be true canoeists in the first place, but we took the test of wilderness canoeing and I can assure you that it was not just about strokes, lists, maps and making the canoe move effortlessly.

Wilderness canoeing, euphemistically referred to as “tripping,” bears no resemblance to the ‘60s variety. There’s nothing metaphysical about it. In this case, tripping requires the canoeist to wear a heavy pack, barrel or canoe as though it were a shirt. Yes, to be a “real” canoeist you’ll have to wear the canoe and all the gear you’re taking with you into the backcountry. And you’ll still have to be able to do all the things a “regualar” canoeist does. It’s not the canoe-handling skills that are the critical feature here, it’s the “wearing” part.

There are other distinguishing features. As with other types of canoeing, wilderness canoeing requires trippers to deal with the incessant buzzing, posturing and biting of blood-thirsty insects—blackflies, deer flies, moose flies, horse flies, mosquitoes, no-see-ums—but the wilderness canoeist has to do so while wearing his “outfit”—his canoe and gear. The tripper gets to experience the pleasure of balancing a canoe on his head while swatting at flies with one hand and pulling up his pants with the other. He’ll also get to repeatedey put down and pick up his outfit to clear trees from the trail, an activity not unlike random repetitions of killer squats.

But there’s more. The wilderness canoeist has to do this in crotch-chaffing heat while boulder-hopping across rocky, uneven ground, or teatering on wet, slippery roots. The alternative? Wait a few meters and you’ll head into dense woody brush—we call them “hardhacks” or “tucker brush” in Nova Scotia—that tears through your pants to lascerate your shins. The hardhacks are so dense you can’t see your feet. You have to shuffle along the one-moose-hoof-wide trail repeatedly kicking your ankles until they’re raw and bloody. And you’ll constantly be tripping over tucker brush and staggering for balance.

And walking. Lots of walking, romantically and innocuously referred to in the literature as “portaging”—“carrying” where I live. You know. You’ve seen those paintings of voyageurs singing songs and smiling while carrying a million-pound Montreal canoe over a million-mile-long portage. Just a stroll. Walking and carrying, and, where there’s enough water, canoeing. I won’t even mention the pleasure of escorting a canoe and outfit through bogs laced with muskrat and beaver channels, or up and down rivers which disappear into shallow rockgardens…or just disappear.

Now we’re getting to the essence of true wilderness canoeing. It’s not the canoe at all, or the skills of the canoeist, but the walking and carrying, up to, in our case, 60+ pound packs and a 67 pound canoe. If it were just the canoeing, wilderness travel would be relatively easy.

On this last trip, and most wilderness trips in Nova Scotia, canoeists do a great deal of carrying. In our case we “double-tripped” each carry, and if you’re a wilderness canoeist you know what that means. We did the math. Twice. Thrice.

From our put-in on Sporting Lake Stream to Kejimkujik National Park, a total of 63 kilometers, we actually paddled 48 kilometers—this is the “canoeist” part. The difference is only 15 kilometers, I know, but we didn’t walk just 15 kilometers. Remember, we double-carried the portages, which means we walked three times that distance…45 kilometers…to go 15 kilometers. That’s walking 48% of the distance on a CANOE trip. We traveled 93 kilometers to get 63 kilometers!

To eliminate some of this walking and carrying some people actually single-carry portages. They either travel light or carry heavy. I have tried each, unsuccessfully, so I have come to accept the price of a double-carry. And besides, as you return for the second load you can recover, relax and enjoy your natural surroundings. The single-trip carrier, especially one whose head is under a canoe, never sees the beauty that surrounds him.

At one time it was facetiously suggested to us by a member of our local canoe club that maybe we ought to consider leaving the canoe at home and just go for a wilderness hike. We had to remind our friend that it’s the process and the experience which are important, not the outcome. After all, we’re not looking for beaver pelts or the Northwest Passage. This begs the question: are we canoeists who walk, or walkers who canoe?

The “real” canoeist has to love the whole experience. He may be a masochist as well as a canoeist, but, most importantly, he’s a WILDERNESS canoeist.