My Paddling Partner
Lynda Childs
Day Two was a killer! Lac La Croix was not smooth as glass on this day. I have long since discovered it rarely is. Mild "chop" looked like high surf to me when we reached LLC at three o'clock that afternoon. Our rented Grumman bumped along on the little waves while relentless wind and sunshine ravaged my uncovered head ("But I never wear hats!"). We paddled and paddled. Neil had in mind a specific location for this night. He thought I would love it. In retrospect, so much paddling was, perhaps, unwise for a novice on Day Two. I persevered. My skin blistered in sun and wind but I gamely paddled on, pretending to have a good time.
Neil's
"perfect destination" was a small stretch of sandy beach on the
Canadian side. It featured the remnants of an old settlement. Exhausted, we
pitched our canvas tent and explored the area. Neil made a fire to cook our
supper while I plopped my weary self down upon the sandy beach. I despaired
over my sunburned knees as well as my blistered ears and nose. I started sobbing.
Absolutely nothing would satisfy me that evening—not the red raspberries
Neil lovingly picked and put into my hands, not the delicious Mountain House
beef stew ("But it has sand in it!"), and not even the tenderness,
restraint, and remarkable forbearance of my paddling partner. He had warned
me repeatedly to wear long pants and a hat to protect my fair blonde skin.
Never once did he utter the words "I told you so!"
I was blind and miserable. I hated the place, the canoe, the tent, and maybe even my partner for subjecting me to it all!
Magically, mystically, it got better after that… a lot better, every day. I changed. First, I changed into long pants and I put on a hat. Then my muscles changed, adjusting to paddling. Portaging somehow became easier. Myrtle Falls enchanted me and High Falls was a total delight! By the time we paddled down Namakan Narrows I was hooked… and changed, forever. I didn't want our trip to end. I hoped we would return.
