Of Inukshuks and a Stroll Through the Park
by Jim Carrier

Gary and Big Ed sat motionless ahead, their paddle drips forming concentric ripples upon still, dark water. Each seemed immersed in private thoughts, reverential…almost, coming to terms, perhaps, with the wilderness gathering about them. Cars, parking lots, and other signs of humanity were now behind us. The veil of mist barely stirred with the promise of warm morning sun, smeared as a hazy pastel brightness above. Awe-inspiring and surreal, this moment was the Park’s first sure answer to months of planning, hoping, and waiting.

I interrupted this sacred “wilderness spell” with my spoken word as we glided up next to them. “Might be wise if we pushed on”, I suggested. “Seems calm now, but you know what they say….”

“Yeah, I know what they say, Flash”, my brother retorted. “If you don’t like the weather up here, just wait five minutes, it’ll change!” Gary sighed, nodded, then addressed Eddie, “Flash is right, Ed. We’d best push across the wide section.” Ed didn’t require coaxing. He confessed to having nightmares about “big water” in the weeks preceding our trip. Despite my assurances we would hug the shoreline most of the time, Ed worried. We both did. A wide expanse of Beaverhouse Lake had to be crossed en route to the Ranger Station. Our bent shafts bit into still water with renewed vigor.

Fifteen minutes later, we bobbed uneasily in the shelter of an island, eyeing the wide crossing. A clearly freshening breeze had blown away early mists. White caps were evident in the distance, signaling the end of our “honeymoon” arrival in Quetico. The rising wind blew crossways to our destination, the Ranger Station dock on the distant shore. Still, conditions didn’t seem all that bad… yet. I advised Gary, “Try not to take rollers broadside. If it gets bad, nose her into the wind. Shoot for the cover of that peninsula. Then follow the shoreline, wind at your back, to the Ranger Station.”

Gary and Big Ed vectored windward immediately. Ben and I shot directly across. A distance of fifty then one hundred yards grew between vessels. With growing worry, we turned slightly into the breeze, towards the wayward canoe. The wind was picking up at exactly the wrong moment! Gary and Ed’s big bodies were acting like sails! Gary steered evermore into that wind with each fitful gust. Slowly, I realized they might miss the protected shoreline entirely. They appeared destined for the far Western reaches of Beaverhouse Lake! When our spread grew to 200 yards, Ben and I pushed back into the wind to make an attempt to help. Suddenly, Gary dramatically altered course with a strong move towards the peninsula. When they stabilized we knew they were going to make it!

Satisfied of their safety, Ben and I wheeled around towards the Ranger Station. We beached and were greeted by an energetic, playful, long-legged mixed breed pup whose name turned out to be “CJ”. CJ found a friend in Ben, licking and jumping all over my son as we made our way to the building. Inside, a pleasantly smiling older couple greeted us and pulled out permit paperwork. Making conversation, I asked, “What’s it like up here in January?” Their response? “Are you kidding?! We winter in Florida!” I completed forms while Ben, followed by CJ, sought the nearby fresh water spring to fill our water bottles.

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Jim Carrier