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Sea Kayak Trips Bulletin Board
High Winds; Sheet Rain; Broken Paddle and Guinness *LINK*
Posted By: Robert N Pruden
Date: Friday, 18 June 2004, at 2:00 a.m.
The following is the trip report I wrote up as a result of my big river trip. I bailed out after day two as a result of very bad weather conditions. I thought hard about continuing on but decided to stop early. My decision was based on safely values I have learned by reading endless information offered by you fine folks here at the GBBS. I hated to stop so soon but I wanted to be sure I would be around to try again in a couple of years. That said, I still enjoyed some good experiences during the few hours of fair weather I was lucky enough to encounter. The weather was basically nasty for the first two days, then it tapered off to generally ok despite windy conditions, then it deteriorated to nasty for the next week. The wind on the prairies tends to funnel down into the river valley and accelerates to make water conditions rather nasty. I had equipment failures that seemed to forebode bad times ahead. I managed to strain my entire left side fighting the weather and water conditions as well, that was another reason to bail out while I still could. What more can I say except to read on and enjoy my trip as you can. There are adventures and misadventures. The report is long so pour yourself a Guinness or a coffee and sit back.
June 06, 300h Day 01 North Battleford, Saskatchewan.
I awoke this morning having slept away the night comfortably snuggled under a heavy warm blanket in a motel at North Battleford, Saskatchewan. I slept well, none of that anxious anticipation I experienced the night before last year’s trip. I had been experiencing daymares two weeks prior to launch; they are a product of my greenhorned experience with the rapids. In these daymares, launch day is gray, cold and wet and I am usually on the water paddling toward a curve in the river the passage of which contains undisclosed consequences: this seems to be the pattern for launch day during my big river trip.
At any rate, my equipment was packed, the kayak had all of its upgrades installed and I was satisfied that almost forty days worth of food would see me through any problems. I could not pack the kayak any tighter than I did so the deck was loaded down with a few items, my Asian sun hats, the lounge lizard (a folding foam/nylon seat), a fishing rod, the cedar 2x4 and a few other minor things. I was really looking forward to a couple of lazy evenings carving my GP using the clear cedar 2x4 I brought along.
The week of weather right across western Canada prior to leaving Edmonton was perfect for paddling. We left Edmonton in the evening with warm clear skies and a weather report suggesting more on the way. It would have been a hot drive to North Battleford so evening driving was the order for the day. We also left later in the evening because I had a few last minute chores to manage. Unfortunately, the weather would not hold, as I would discover over the next two days. The weather pattern became disturbed overnight by a northern system doing battle with south-westerly flows causing the weather pattern to change from sunny and warm to rain and high wind. This chaotic weather pattern would cause me no end of grief while I was on the water.
After leaving the motel, I drove my mom’s car down to the end of the river access road and maneuvered it to make unloading easier. It was 11:00 a.m. River access is via a gravel road that runs alongside the highway then drops down towards the river beside the bridge. The river was lower than it was last year so I had to walk though somewhat damp mud to get my gear to the waters edge. Lydia wanted to run over to a sandbar but I had to stop her because to get there would have meant wading through what looked like the very deep gray-green sucking mud that I have come to know so well. She would have gone down to her knees then I would have had to do a rescue. Mind you, in that situation Lydia would have been very susceptible to blackmail, I could have got her to do all kinds of chores at home.
The spring day had dawned gray with gusting winds increasing to thrust spits of rain into my face. I wasn’t wearing my Filson, a wide-brimmed version from that great Seattle based hat company by the same name. The lenses of my glasses were becoming speckled with splatters of rain so I was thinking about it. The increasing spits of rain concerned me enough to work fast to get the VJ loaded up as soon as possible. The clouds moving in were heavier and threatening a major dump. My mom was lugging my equipment down to the riverside from the trunk of her car while my wife Judy looked on from the high bank as Lydia cavorted amongst the rocks under the bridge. I was almost done loading when the rain began falling in earnest so I had to stop packing and don my drytop and Filson. I didn’t have time to get into my rain gear (thanks Mike, for the suggestion, it really helped eventually) so I had to settle for wet trekking pants as I shoved my last drybag under the deck in front of my feet.
I ran up to the car and hugged everyone goodbye then ran back to the VJ and set her up in the muck and water for the launch. The rain was soaking me to the skin so I worked hastily to minimize how much more water I would take with me into the cockpit. Once I edged my legs in I quickly laid out the spray skirt and shoved off into the river. I looked back to wave to my support team and loved ones, then turned my attention to the whitecaps ahead. As in my daymares, everything was gray, wet, cold and the curve ahead uncertain. I knew the river ahead was basically flat water but the wind was kicking it up. That combined with the current stirred things up into all kinds of complications.
This was as inauspicious a start as I have ever had. Even the day I plunged over the rapids back in 2002 was more pleasant. The launch conditions today matched my daymares so closely that I was starting to imagine that my own mind was creating the weather because I worried about it so much. That brand of thinking was not the best mindset to begin this trip with, my mind was already working against success.
The best way to describe the next few hours is via an old cliché: “From the pan into the fire”. Initially, upon launching, I worried about not having paddled for two months prior to launching today. That concern soon faded as I found my center and my mind rolled (just a pun here) into paddling mode with ease. I encountered a lot of chop on the water in the calmer sections while the exposed areas were more of a struggle with white-capped waves cresting between one to two feet. I kept to the north side of the river to paddle in the protection of the higher banks. I could already feel a small chill working its way down along my arms to my elbows as water filtered its way through my half-fingered gloves and through the wrist gasket on the left side of my drytop. I felt no thrill to be out there, only angst that this weather system looked so heavy and threatening.
I am sure that at this point I was frowning with the effort to keep the headwinds from grabbing the bow of the VJ to spin her around despite the fact that I loaded her bow-heavy to reduce weather cocking. I am more certain that I was not smiling while wondering if this vague sense of foreboding I had was ominous of the reward I would get from the sum total of all the effort I put into planning and organizing this trip. I shook that thought and tried to stick with the business at hand, staying away from the winds, which were increasing as the river rounded corners and widened into unprotected expanses.
At this point I would have loved to have written about the wildlife I saw and heard. The fact is, they were smarter than this dumb paddler who was out on the miserably storm-tossed, whitecapped river being tossed willy-nilly while literally jammed into a thin-skinned long and narrow piece of mahogany/fiberglass composite that would sink easily if it didn’t have a dumb paddler sealed into it with another composite made of easily sinkable waterproofed nylon and rubber. The wildlife wouldn’t come out until hours and one broken paddle later while the weather stopped for a dead-calm two-hour breather. It would then pick up the reins of its most furious steed and rail against me all night. I would use that calm to hastily set up camp at the end of day one of my big wet and stormy river trip on a beautiful mesa-like island of sand that stood four feet above the river. Its prairie grasses filled the island with wind buffeted green waves while various deciduous trees grew near the ends and edges of the island. If a rainbow had shown it would have been simply glorious. Instead, low heavy trains of purple cloud were charging across the skies, bearing down towards me so that I felt an urgent need to work in great haste to get my gear organized into camp-mode.
Before I could set up my first nights camp, I had to do battle with the storm. It basically kicked my ass after turning it to the best angle. I could not see any of the myriad of sandbars that this river offers up in Saskatchewan, Sandbar Capital of Canada. There was so much chop being pushed over them that they remained undiscovered until the hull of the VJ jammed into their tops. These sandbars would normally be either exposed to the air or cause the water to ripple making them easily detectable in calm weather. The storm made them as distinguishable as any other quality of the river: not at all.
It was while angling across the river through foot-and-a-half standing waves while fighting winds that wanted to spin me broadside to the waves that I struck a sandbar in a bad spot. The bow jammed hard into the sand while the stern was still in deep water that was being churned by wind and current into powerful little foot-and-a-half waves. The stern of the VJ was immediately swept forward and the deepwater waves were suddenly hitting the VJ broadside. The VJ rocked wildly side-to-side as I tried to maintain my balance to avoid a roll. The sandbars here have a tendency to drop off on one side rather suddenly into deep water. It is there that the bow was rammed into the sand. I knew if I went over I would not only go over completely but also probably be swept quickly into shallower water where the current action and the gravelly bottom would grind the scalp off of my head and whatever it could connect with. In a desperate maneuver to release the sandbars grip on the bow I jammed my paddle blade into the sand and gave a mighty push being careful to ram the paddle straight into the sand and not use any lateral force that might break a blade. I heard something that sounded like a fine “chink” as the kayak spun stern-first downstream after it was released by my efforts. I checked the blade of the paddle but it was intact so I immediately dipped it into the water to right the kayak and be on my way.
To my horror the paddle was flopping around like a bird with a broken wing. I held it up while watching to see where I was being swept and pulled it neatly apart where it should have been held together rather tightly. The ferrule had broken neatly around the joint where the button locks into place for feathering. That was strike one against the integrity of my equipment, strike on against trip comfort and strike one against trip safety. With rain now blowing into my face and onto my glasses, which were causing water-droplet distortions, I was feeling in a state of rushed emergency. While cursing a streak blue enough to color the skies years, I tried to hold the paddle together while I attempted to regain control of the VJ. She was now being swept helter-skelter through hellish chop towards the center of the river where the waves were heavier and thoroughly whitecapped. I couldn’t think of anything effective to do with the now ineffectual paddle so I hastily tucked the halves under the deck bungies and grabbed the only spare I had: that 7’ clear cedar 2x4 I planned on carving into a GP.
Using the 2x4 I was able to regain control of the VJ and steer her to quieter waters. The 2x4 was bloody awkward by comparison to the paddle I was using but it was effective. While I was in the lea of an island I checked my left wrist gasket because I had taken a huge amount of water down the arm during a high brace and soaked my left side right down to my underwear. The gasket had somehow torn and was now ineffective. That was now two strikes against trip comfort and equipment: more swearing.
I struggled with that 2x4 for another 20 minutes before my arms began to tire with the effort. The cedar was getting waterlogged and heavier. I also realized that I could never effectively brace with it. Worse, the wind was trying to rip it out of my hands because it wasn’t feathered. More swearing! I was now in an area that was relatively calmer due to high banks that formed on the north shore. I took a few minutes to take stock of my situation. I was starting to shiver with cold along my torso any time I stopped paddling, which was bad. I was wet with no prospect of being dry for hours yet, bad again. My paddle was broken and I couldn’t stop to do a repair or carve the GP, bad again. Opening my hatches in this weather to set up camp would have ensured wet equipment so that was out of the question. The left wrist gasket on my drytop was leaking, bad again. A steady stream of water into my drytop ensured I would be exposed to a regular stream of cold water down my side. Worst of all, my peace of mind was gone and I was getting bitchier with everything negative that was happening. In a sea kayak you keep your state of mind on an even keel or you set yourself up for future trouble, even on a shallow river because its current is unforgiving in bad weather. I felt awful at this point, kept looking at the skies to see hints of thinning cloud that could mean a break in the weather: nothing!
I couldn’t keep using the 2x4 so I switched to a half-paddle as I had seen Marek use in one of the well made videos of his trips. It took me a while to get the hang of it but soon I felt as if I had always been paddling single-bladed. I also soon realized that I could never brace as quickly with a single-bladed paddle as I could with a double. In this weather that meant that I wasn’t as safe on the water as I would have liked.
My break in the weather came during the early evening. I was able to relax a little. I had stowed a can of Guinness in the cockpit. I pulled it out now and enjoyed a warming quaff while I listening to the birds that were only just now starting to sound off. The sun had not burned through the cloud cover but it was now warm and dead calm. I managed to get off a few photographs using both SLR and digital cameras. I got some great pictures of wax-wings, birds I call show-off birds because of their penchant for flying along the banks with me and posing on branches were they appear to show off their beautiful colors. I also managed to get great close-up photographs of beavers, closer that they have ever allowed me before. It was Remembrance Day today, so when two Canadian Forces Helicopters buzzed me suddenly from over a high ridge, I was not surprised. Having been in that Bell Ranger Search helicopter last year while looking for that body I knew they could see me in the kayak very clearly. Out of respect for the day and their efforts at keeping the world a safer place, I saluted them after waving to let them know I was acknowledging their presence. Life was finally good and seeming to get better.
It was about this time that I came upon that beautiful mesa-like island and decided to choose it for my first camp. I saw the heavy purple clouds moving toward me so I wasted no time organizing my gear for
Camp l. Thus would begin a new worry, as I perceived a serious problem from within my food supplies.I was hungry by this time and decided that the first order of business was to get out a power bar and package of pemmican to munch on while setting up camp. I pulled out one dry bag at a time and searched the food bags to locate the necessary goods. Hmm, what the hell? No power bar bag. I had placed the power bars, pemmican and packages of nuts and dried fruits all into one bag and couldn’t locate the bag. It slowly dawned on me that it could have been left in my mom’s trunk. I didn’t load my gear into the car back in Edmonton nor did I unload the car at North Battleford, my mom did and could have had an oversight with this bag. While I was pulling out the bags a can of Guinness had been punctured and began fizzing brown ooze all over the inside of the froward storage compartment. I removed it, opened it up and set it aside while I used my cockpit sponge to mop up the mess. I rechecked my bags for the only source of protein I brought along for this trip. No luck! At that point I knew I was doomed unless I either found the bag or replaced the missing protein as soon as possible. Any one who has done a paddling trip knows how important protein is on a long trek. My spirits now sunk to a new low as I pondered my new problem while working my way through the leaky can of Guinness I now had in my hand. I decided that I could try to find a source of protein when I got to the Borden Bridge, which I should pass by sometime tomorrow afternoon. That settled, I proceeded with setting up camp.
I had the tent set up in short order and took a few moments to make the best of things. I turned and admired the landscape I found myself nestled into. The sweep of the land was beautiful. The river had cut a deep U into the very flat prairie and surrounded itself with various kinds of deciduous trees and scrub. The shores were often grassy and laden with thick stands of willow that provided an ecosystem that supported a huge variety of bird and wildlife. I had seen evidence of raccoon, beaver and other mammals, many species of bird and, of course, the farm animal favorite, the cow.
The cows are often allowed to wander to the river’s edge for water. Occasionally I rounded bends in the river only to surprise one or two that had wandered down to drink. Upon seeing me and not knowing what I was they would pause to stare rather dumbly at me then suddenly sound off urgent mooing as they pounded their way up the banks to the relative safety of the upper meadows.
The variegated hues of the landscape tended towards light and dark greens offset by patches of gray-greens. These colors framed the steely muddy gray-green that was the river today. That was all topped off with the gray-to-purples of the clouds above. There was no brilliant blue, no warm sunshine: just the off-tepid humidity of the after- or prestorm build-up. I was enamoured by the beauty I saw and felt at this time that I pulled out the digital camera and attempted to take a panoramic photograph of the entire scene. That image can be found at the link below. Spits of rain were now falling so I hurried the rest of my gear into the tent. As I was zipping myself into the tent the rain began to fall in earnest. There I stayed until it stopped at 0900h the next morning.
While snuggled in my sleeping bag I pulled out the GPS, turned it on and opened my journal to make my first nights entry. I wrote about my day’s experiences as the day darkened. Soon I had to turn on the LCD light so I pulled it out and twisted the top to illuminate the three tiny bulbs that shine so brightly and effectively. Nothing except the smell of burning circuitry. The bulbs are soldered onto a tiny circuit board that connects to three AAA-batteries. I pulled the light apart and saw that one battery connection was crooked so I straightened it out and reset the switch. Nothing again! Swearing! Reset the electrode again and reset the switch. Nothing! More swearing! My alternate light source was in a dry bag in the kayak and with heavy rain I was NOT going out to get it. I snapped closed my journal after writing closing statements about broken equipment, missing food and bad weather then zipped up my sleeping bag and went to sleep. I hoped dearly that tomorrow would be a better day.
June 07 0900h
I originally awoke at roughly 0500h as I usually do on these long kayak trips. It was raining with a healthy wind blowing so I went back to sleep. I awoke every hour or so until finally the rain stopped. It was 0900h with winds still blowing the occasional strong gust that rattled the tent. I had been praying to wake up in a tent heated by brilliant sunshine. Instead, when I peaked out of the tent I saw skies heavily clouded with dubious threats of rain. Temperatures were cool but not uncomfortable. I decided to break camp and get back on the water before the rain began to fall. The river, of course, was full of chop but there were no whitecaps on this stretch.
I took a little time to search for my protein bag for the third time. Nothing! Damn! This could mean the end of my trip. Paddling for long hours with no protein source is an invitation to mental confusion and fatigue that can become life threatening in difficult situations. Being on a river in bad weather is a life threatening situation so I knew I had a serious problem.
I had the VJ packed in minutes and launched her in short order. I paddled along the north shore again to avoid the worst of the wind, which was picking up again. Soon the wind was challenging my skills as it did yesterday but there was no rain to cool me down so I was better spirited for the challenges it would present. The open stretches of water were still full of heavy chop and the occasional set of large, short period waves. I was forced to paddle through this at times to stay in areas protected from the wind. I soon learned that to hold a straight course it was necessary to paddle on my left side for most of the day. I knew this would be a problem but in order to save this trip I had to make it to the Borden Bridge where I could find my first chance to either restock my proteins or bail out. At this point I figured I could continue on with a half-paddle until I carved the GP.
The scenery was basically more of the same for a prairie landscape. One very interesting aspect of the higher eroded banks I noticed were what appeared to be old bones protruding at a depth of roughly one foot below the top of the bank. The river hasn’t crested to those heights in decades or more. That would mean that those bones have been buried in the soil for a longer period of time to become buried to that degree. I speculate that those bones were of the bison that once roamed the prairies in the tens of millions before white man settled these lands. I did not take time to photograph the bones. I would have loved to have taken one or two home but my necessity to get to the bridge superceded my desires to collect artifacts of my big river trip. Besides, those bones aren’t going anywhere, I can always make a special trip on a nice weekend to recover them. Maybe by that time one of my kids will be able to join me, I know they’d be thrilled to find the bones and imagine the story behind them.
The rest of day two was basically a struggle to hold my course and get to the bridge. As the day wore on I was surprised that the bridge had not appeared yet. That meant that the storms of yesterday had really slowed my progress. I had expected to easily paddle 60 kms during the first day. I now knew I didn’t come close to that distance. At one point near the end of day two I encountered a very calm narrow meandering path between the high north bank and an island with high banks. The water between was flat and flowed more slowly than the main current. I took advantage of this quieter section of the river and pulled out a Guinness. I enjoyed the calm while letting the kayak move along powered only by the slower current. The VJ spun in wide circles as I allowed myself this respite from the unrelentingly tough left-sided paddling that was causing my left shoulder and leg to aches with the burning sensations of overstress. I knew that without a rest my whole left side would be in spasm by nightfall and camp two would be an exercise in pain management.
It was about this time that I moved my feet behind the footpegs to stretch my legs out one at a time. My left foot touched something hard where there should have been nothing. I was a bit perplexed about the hard lump until a dumbfounding yet relieving thought dawned on my numb mind. Sonomabitch, that was my missing protein supply bag in there at my feet. I swore a couple of epithets that contained religious connotations as I now recalled how that bag got there in the first place. While I was loading the kayak with what I thought were the last bags of equipment and food, Lydia had come running down to give me another bag that my mom found in the trunk of her car. The storage compartments were too full to take the bag so I had shoved it into the cockpit in front of where my feet would go. There was enough space there for at least one 5-litre bag so it fit perfectly, so perfectly I completely forgot that it was there until my left foot hit it just now. Well, well, well…that made me feel better but only for a split second. Almost immediately I realized that my mind was not completely focused on the trip. That meant that the possibility existed that I could make a mistake on Lake Winnipeg or near any of the six portages I had to consider making around the rapids ahead. Now I was worried that I was a danger to myself. I bore this thought in mind while I paddled on. My happiness level dropped to a new low.
I didn’t see the Borden Bridge until 1800h that evening, almost 6 hours later than I estimated during the planning stages of this trip. I would eventually discover that I made only 40 kms headway during the first day’s paddle. I would also find that I would make only 55 kms headway during the second day. That put me 65 kms behind schedule. I had originally allowed for seven days lost due to storms and other problems but that was intentioned for Lake Winnipeg where I was guaranteed to lose time. I had already lost two days by starting the trip on June 06 instead of June 04 to avoid a mad rush to North Battleford after working a 12-hour day at work. I saw my trip schedule falling apart faster than I planned. I also realized that I would not bee able to allow for any extra time to rest my aching body. This was not good.
Not along after I exited the meandering way I was forced to enter a narrowing section of river where the wind was carving up a lot of heavy chop. Upon entering the chop I rounded a curve and there it was, the Borden Bridge. It appeared so suddenly that I was taken aback yet instantly felt huge relief that an end was near. I was half-decided to end my river trip right then and there. As I approached the bridge I spied two fishermen enjoying good success. I hacked my way through the chop towards them and settled in an eddy created by a manmade heap of rock piled against the north bank. After a brief conversation about nothing I asked them if they knew what the weather forecast was predicted to be. I heard them say that the forecast called for more of the same weather until the weekend. That meant more wind, waves and rain.
Well, I’ll tell you one thing: I’ve never made such an easy decision before in my life. I decided right then and there that I was bailing out of this trip. I was cold, sore, my body was strained, my equipment busted up and my spirits begging for a peaceful long hot shower in some motel room anywhere I could find it. I paddled the VJ upstream until I found a spot where I could stash it unseen by anyone from the highway and in a spot difficult to access from the shore, got out my coat and started making my way to the highway.
I have traveled this highway many times over the years so I knew which way to go to get to Borden. West! I started walking and could care less how far it was. I was off the river, sipping Gatorade, popping candies into my mouth that Lydia had offered to me at launch time and was enjoying the weather, which was still windy but warmer now that I was out of the river valley. Within a half and hour the sun was shining on me and I was smiling. I’ve always loved walking long distances along highways. This was the best part of my trip so far. Within an hour of starting my walk I was entering Borden and heading for the local hotel.
At the hotel, a small clapboard concern that was closed down except for the pub, I learned that there would be no bus to anywhere I could rent a car for a day or so. It so happened that Rahim, the owner/operator of the pub, was heading into Saskatoon that night after he shut the pub down. That meant I had four hours to spend watching game 7 of the Stanley Cup Finals and drinking a local brand of ale. Life was getting better. Within two hours I cared not a whit for whatever it was I was doing earlier that day, I was watching two hockey games that seemed to be showing the same two teams, Calgary and Tampa Bay. Both Calgary teams were losing and would, in the end, lose it all. When Rahim shut the pub down we got into his Jetta and bombed down the highway into Saskatoon. He dropped me off at a hotel where I booked a room then took a very long hot shower. I washed my clothes and booties in the shower to get the stink of the river out of them with only minor success.
The next day I called all of the car rental companies in the city and believe it or not, there were no cars available to rent until 1600h. It was 0900h now and I really really wanted to get back to the VJ before someone discovered it and removed it to a place of their choice. After some frantic searching I decided that I wasn’t going to get a car until 1600h so I could at least walk to Canadian Tire to buy rubber boots and bungies in preparation for recovering the VJ. As I was walking along I discovered a car and truck rental company I hadn’t called. Upon inquiring I discovered that I could rent a cargo van rather cheaply so I got that and headed back to Borden.
Once I got back to the bridge I parked the van underneath and recovered the VJ, which was still waiting for me safely hidden where I left it. I paddled it to the bridge and wedged the bow into that rock heap I mentioned earlier and began unloading the kayak. After unloading roughly 2/3 of the equipment into the van I decided to pause and get into some drier clothes. My clothes were still damp from their hotel shower cleaning. After the change I turned back to the kayak only to see it floating free towards the main current. It was eight feet away from the shore and slowly backing out of the eddy. I hastily ran down to the water and stepped in, my foot sinking into deep mud under the water. My next step felt nothing under it but I knew it had to be done: I jumped in and swan to the kayak. I was laughing when I jumped in, so many things were going wrong that it was now just funny to me. I swam to the kayak, got it into a bear hug and tucked my feet underneath to kick back to shore. Once there I made sure the VJ was sitting securely on top of the rocks.
I got the kayak loaded using the boots as my kayak cradles and the bungies to hold it down. I started the van and headed home for Edmonton, a six-hour drive. At this point I had not called home and decided to surprise everyone by driving up nonchalantly, as if I was returning from a day trip. On the way home I picked up a cleanly dressed hitchhiker who turned out to be a Newfie who wrecked his gearbox while muck mucking around in his 4x4 near Saskatoon. He was on his way to Lloydminster to get a new gearbox for the truck. After initial introductions we had a wonderful chat about what amounted to “being Canadian”. In the midst of our conversation one of the front bungies suddenly let go with a whipping snap what sent the bungie wrapping around the windshield. Within seconds the other bungie let go with a similar whipping snap. Suddenly the kayak was taking sheer winds of at least 100 kms and leaning heavily to the right, held in place by only the heavy duty bungie attached to the bow hand hold. I veered off the highway at speed then jammed on the brakes. It appeared that when I fastened the side bungies to the inside of the front wheel wells, I neglected to account for the fact that the wheels were tightly fitted into the wells so that any time I turned the van the wheels ate into the bungies. I had extra cords so I attached new bungies in different locations in the wheel wells and was quickly on my way again.
I dropped my hitchhiker friend, Paul, off at Lloydminter after filling the van up with gas. Oh my god was that an expensive fill. That durned thing cost me $100 to fill, bottom to top. I thought the gas station attendant was joking when she said $100. Nope! She was telling the truth. Gads! Quitting the trip was costing me. No wonder the van was so cheap to rent. They knew at the rental shop, they knew, but they didn’t tell me. That’s why the well-preened guy was smiling as he viewed my credit card and looked at who was renting the van. I was messy-haired and unshaven with sunken eyes, wearing neoprene booties, dirty pants and stinking of something like organic rot. A rental car would have cost me a tank of gas, maybe $60 when it was all told and done. I still had to return the van or face a still return fee of $400. That meant another fill somewhere along the way. Sob!
In the end I surprised everyone, explained why I bailed out of the trip, arranged for someone to follow me back to Saskatoon to return the van and had a pleasant drive back to Edmonton. If there is anything to learn from this whole ordeal, I suppose there could be a few things to think about. No amount of planning can guarantee the success of a trip if the weather works against you. Be prepared to make the tough decision to bow out and lose the expense of planning. Better to be safe and able to paddle another day than to die trying. Forget the idea of carving your spare paddle on the fly, your main paddle can break under tough conditions on the first day and paddling with a 2x4 is challenging, to say the least. Bring your memory with you, it helps to remember where you stowed your food, less worry that way. Equipment will fail, make sure to bring spares that use the same power source as the main. My spare light source is powered by the same batteries as my GPS, no a good combination when you haven’t brought enough batteries to power both. Lastly, don’t renovate your kitchen after a lengthy bout with the flu while planning the trip on days off when you work 12-hour shifts including nights. I was tired when I started the trip, expecting to actually rest up during the first few days of lazy river paddling. Yes, I can do 100 kms a day and consider it lazy paddling but NOT during difficult storm conditions. In hindsight, I should have had busy but restful days prior to starting the trip. I was sleep deprived and although strong enough to handle the bad weather physically, mentally I was not all there.
Not to worry, I’ll be back on the water in two years. Next year I have the World Masters Games to think about. Hey, my 11-yr old daughter made an interesting observation when I got back home. She noticed a pattern in the way things work with this river trek. Every odd year seems to become a write-off for some reason or other. I guess this means next time I head off I’m gonna make it just fine. Well, I can sink my teeth into that philosophy.
I do plan on salvaging some aspects of this trip. I will be driving to Winnipeg with the VJ on the roof of the car to meet Ken Sutherland at his place by June 28th. From there we’ll be dropped off at the Narrows so that we can enjoy a week or so of paddling on Lake Winnipeg where we’ll end up at his cabin on the south end of the lake. That is, of course, assuming it stops raining long enough over there. Apparently the rivers are all flooding because of the rain. That, of course, means that the mosquitoes are probably weighing in at about the 5-pound range and considered armed and dangerous. Let’s all get down on our knees and pray that Rob and Ken find some joy on the water for a short while, after all, our paddling season is way to short up here.
Robert N Pruden
June 17, 2004
A few photos of the river trip
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