Continuation of Camping with LB: Bathroom Etiquette
If you look close enough, you can see my middle finger.
I'm in no way giving it to you.
I'm expressing how I feel about camping without a lake.
Young's Point, Alberta
CANOE SAFETY
The best things in life may be free, but the best kind of camping includes a damn lake. I assume it's why being a "Canoe Trip Leader" was indeed the best job of my life. It came with touches of danger, more than a few embarrassing moments, hard work, early rises and a lot of preparation. It was all worth it once I was out on that water, listening to the sounds of my paddle dip in and out.
I miss the days of blisters and sunburns, I miss the day long paddles and the portaging. I miss the wild. I miss the combined smell of sunblock, bug propellant and campfire in my hair. I miss the open water, the marshlands and the forest. There is one definite thing I do not miss. What I don't miss, is looking like a complete fucking idiot in front of children in my care. I don't miss it at all.
For your entertainment however, I will relive these moments, because I'm nice like that.
It was another typical summer day in the middle of Algonquin Park as I made my way down the light rapids of a small meandering river. I had campers in my care and the help of another leader about my age. I didn't forget the tent poles, bears hadn't eaten our food and for once I hadn't tripped or fallen to the tune of laughing kids.
The trip was only a few days in, and spirits were high. As we continued around the bends of the river I kept my eyes open for the upcoming portage (being the leader means being aware of shit like this...and not telling the campers till you get there so they don't whine for too long).
When we found our short 400m portage, I was a bit confused. The river seemed to bend around the land making it appear as though you could just keep going.
When we found our short 400m portage, I was a bit confused. The river seemed to bend around the land making it appear as though you could just keep going.
I am "smarter" than that of course, I always follow the signs and stick with the plan when it comes to life far from emergency services, and I follow the map. It is a provincial park after all, and that shit is important. Just ask David Suzuki.
As we beached our canoes on the soft gradual shore, I began to unload the contents of my canoe on to the sand. I was feeling pumped for a short stint of hard work when I heard one of the campers start to scream.
"The canoe!" she shrieked, "its getting away!"
Oh holy hell of course it it's floating away down the rapids, it's the canoe with all the food in it.
Oh holy hell of course it it's floating away down the rapids, it's the canoe with all the food in it.
It is important to note that while trippin' campers were always told to wear their bathing suit under their clothes. It was also common knowledge that I never followed this rule, as I was out all summer and there is no way wearing a bathing suit for a summer is good for my downstairs.
I yelled down to the camper telling her to swim after it, as she dig have a suit under her shorts and t-shirt. I didn't think it was a major task. I watched the canoe float out into the narrow river and I pictured it following the current and never coming back. Not in one piece anyhow, I mean, why else would there be a portage here?
The camper began to slowly untie her shoes, pulling delicately at the laces, calm and snail like in her movements. One shoe off, struggling to remove the first sock. Ok, I thought, this isn't going to work.
I kicked off my shoes, dropped my bag on the shore and yelled "I got it!" while racing towards the water. I forced myself into the waves, pushing out toward the canoe as fast as I could.
I could see the canoe ahead of me, almost there I notice sometime odd, the canoe had stopped moving. The canoe was resting calmly on a bed of reeds on the other side of the very small river. My rescue mission had been in vain, and now my shit was all fucking wet.
I heard roars of laughter coming from the beach behind me as I grabbed the tip of the banked canoe and swam it to shore. As I gradually submerged from the water, like a drown beaver, I walked over to my co-leader and mumbled under my breath about the failed attempt.
I informed the group that I would change before we began the portage and headed up the small hill to the trailhead. As I stepped over the ridge I could see little to no places to change as the water was visible from where I stood on all angles. I chose an area near the river and convinced myself I would be fast.
I quickly stripped down out of my clothing so I could dry off (with my very small hand towel). It was then I started to hear voices, not in my head, coming down the river.
Fuck, I thought, there's people coming. I could barely get my dry underwear up my half wet thighs when around the corner came a group of males canoing past me. They saw me. They all pretended to then look away, but they saw me. I could hear snickering as I fireman-ed on the rest of my clothes, dreading seeing them on the portage.
Good news was, I didn't have to see them. They didn't portage.
Bad news was, the reason they didn't portage was because it's only there for dry seasons and the river continues safely out into the lake.
It was all for nothing. It could have all been avoided.
But where ever is the fun in that? I made a flag out of my bra and underwear to dry them off as we pushed off on the other side of the portage, and continued on our way.
The camper began to slowly untie her shoes, pulling delicately at the laces, calm and snail like in her movements. One shoe off, struggling to remove the first sock. Ok, I thought, this isn't going to work.
I kicked off my shoes, dropped my bag on the shore and yelled "I got it!" while racing towards the water. I forced myself into the waves, pushing out toward the canoe as fast as I could.
I could see the canoe ahead of me, almost there I notice sometime odd, the canoe had stopped moving. The canoe was resting calmly on a bed of reeds on the other side of the very small river. My rescue mission had been in vain, and now my shit was all fucking wet.
I heard roars of laughter coming from the beach behind me as I grabbed the tip of the banked canoe and swam it to shore. As I gradually submerged from the water, like a drown beaver, I walked over to my co-leader and mumbled under my breath about the failed attempt.
I informed the group that I would change before we began the portage and headed up the small hill to the trailhead. As I stepped over the ridge I could see little to no places to change as the water was visible from where I stood on all angles. I chose an area near the river and convinced myself I would be fast.
I quickly stripped down out of my clothing so I could dry off (with my very small hand towel). It was then I started to hear voices, not in my head, coming down the river.
Fuck, I thought, there's people coming. I could barely get my dry underwear up my half wet thighs when around the corner came a group of males canoing past me. They saw me. They all pretended to then look away, but they saw me. I could hear snickering as I fireman-ed on the rest of my clothes, dreading seeing them on the portage.
Good news was, I didn't have to see them. They didn't portage.
Bad news was, the reason they didn't portage was because it's only there for dry seasons and the river continues safely out into the lake.
It was all for nothing. It could have all been avoided.
But where ever is the fun in that? I made a flag out of my bra and underwear to dry them off as we pushed off on the other side of the portage, and continued on our way.
