For almost half a century, I have been an avid boater, and notwithstanding occasional forays into power and sail, the canoe has always been my first love. I do not canoe here on Vancouver Island because to me it is not canoe country.
When in Rome, do as the Romans do, so here I sail. Nevertheless, when we came west I brought two canvas canoes, ever hopeful. After they sat on trestles in the back yard for two years, I disposed of them, reluctantly.
Many years ago as a young soldier, I lived on the Moehne Talsperre in Westphalia, Germany. It was one of the few lakes in that part of the world (man-made) and therefore in season attracted a large camping and boating public. The boats were almost exclusively European canoes, similar to what we would call a kayak.
One day, however, I saw a familiar shape and, unable to contain myself, hurried to make the acquaintance of the owner. With some difficulty, I made known to him the reason for my forwardness. He, somewhat relieved to discover I was only interested in his boat, said Ah, das Danadische danu. Bitte, mein Herr (or something like that). This invitation I accepted gratefully, and off I went for a paddle.
Until then I had not realized that internationally this boat was known as the Canadian Canoe.
Altogether, I suppose I have paddled fifty different canoes: several of my own, several belonging to friends, and the balance rented from outfitters. Most were canvas covered, some fiberglass, and some aluminum. They ranged from twelve to twenty feet in length, fifty to one hundred and twenty pounds in weight (not including my twenty-foot square stern freighter), and in condition ranging from excellent to poor.
Six of us and a large dog enjoyed tripping in two fifteen-feet canvas canoes, complete with tents, sleeping gear, grub utensils, dog chow, and bug lotion. I sue the term enjoy without apology, because, in retrospect, all agree the experiences were enjoyable, although at the time children being what they are, they sometimes had to be told they were enjoying themselves.
Sixteen or seventeen-foot canoes might have been more appropriate, but since I had to do all the canoe carrying, I preferred the lighter fifteens.
We had no problems. The three older ones paddled one boat, and Mom and I had the other with dog and the youngest.
Vacation time, in those days, consisted of heading north with two canoes on top and the little twelve upturned on the motor canoe, which was trailered. Everyone had his own paddle, and was expected to use it, even in the big canoe.
I read that there is a tremendous revival of interest in canoeing today, and my observations would tend to confirm this. Even here on the Island, one vehicle in twenty-five has a canoe on top, and many more can be seen in backyards.
What disturbs me is that the boats I saw only vaguely resemble canoes in design, and the performance of the paddlers I have managed to observe, be it in local waters or on international TV, suggests something is dreadfully wrong with the state of the art.
I am not a hide bound purist or traditionalist. Good boating to me is safe, efficient, sensible boating, irrespective of the mode, be it power, sail, canoe, or whatever. With few provisos, I acknowledge the superiority of modern materials over ribs, planks, and canvas, If the manufacturer produces a satisfactory product and the boater learns his part, it makes for better boating all around, and everyone benefits.
My message is that I don't think this is happening. As for the manufacturer, I recognize enterpreneurism is more likely to be the name of his game than promotion of good canoeing; nevertheless, unless the consumer is well enough informed to tell him his product is unsatisfactory, nothing will change.
The myth that all Canadians are born with an innate ability to handle a canoe is patently ridiculous; nevertheless, it would appear some of this inanity exists. The number of people who would unhesitatingly take driving, swimming, golf, tennis, banjo, and dog obedience lessons from an expert, but who purchase the most dangerous, unstable, demanding and inefficient watercraft available, and proceed to use it with no knowledge or instruction, boggles the mind.
Furthermore, in the literature about canoeing, there is far more romantic drivel than fact. The myth and romance of the canoe is not to be denied, but with apologies to Pauline Johnson, creator The Song My Paddle Sings, your paddle won't sing any songs if the boat you have doesn't perform like a canoe, and you yourself have not bothered to learn the art of paddling. |
