This past Saturday morning was so nice I couldn't help taking a canoe out on the Lake...
About 3 months ago at the turn-around point of a long all-day paddle I met a fellow at a beach in Avon Lake on Lake Erie. He took an interest in my canoe and we chatted for a while. Turns out he'd just returned from a one-month solo canoe adventure on the eastern shore of Lake Superior, along Pukaskwa National Park in Canada. There's no roads for 50 miles or more in that area. I'd sailed there 15 years ago and it's about as remote as it gets in this part of the country.
This was a serious canoeist. His Nova Craft canoe was still on his car and his gear still inside. He had to get home and I had to leave too, to make it back before dark. Not having pen or paper at hand, he wrote his name in the sand. I've got a good memory for things written. I told him I'd be in touch.
It was about 25 degrees out when I picked Gary up at his house Saturday morning. A beautiful December day: grey sky, grey waves, grey horizon. I'd called the day before taking it for granted that he'd be eager for a morning paddle. And he was. I had my partly decked sailing canoe (minus the sailing rig). Its special low seating made for slightly less efficient paddling, but gave it greater stability, a feature much prized on Lake Erie. We drove to Miller Park just west of the Avon Lake power plant.
I saw some glistening slime where the ramp met the water. My beloved Chota boots could handle that. But still I slipped and nearly fell. Covering the slime was a sheet of invisible ice. We both gripped the dock to keep our footing, as we launched the canoe. We looked like Michelin men all puffy in our layers of sweaters, jackets and pants.
Once past the breakwall we could see the waves rolling in from the northwest, long and easy. They were either the left overs from higher winds the night before, or the portent of higher winds to come. But right now the winds were 5 - 10 knots. We headed upwind towards Sheffield Lake.
The canoe took the waves nicely. It's a Bell Northwind and made for canoe tripping. The added decking deflects most of the spray. There wasn't much spray from these long, gentle waves, unlike last weekend when we'd gone to see the migrating ducks by the mouth of the Sandusky River. A rising wind in shallow waters produced a nasty steep chop that tossed a good bit of spray aboard. The little spray we got today was hardly noticeable. Until I looked at my gloves. 'Gary, do you have some ice on your gloves?' He did. Also on his paddle shaft, which explained why his grip was sloppy. Then we saw ice on the wooden decking of the canoe.
I'd remembered reading about old-time sea captains who would order their men forward on the slippery decks of the ship, to chop ice free with axes. Enough ice build up and it could capsize the ship. I'd have ordered Gary forward but he was already there in the bow seat. We lacked a windshield ice scraper, and anyhow, it would have wreaked havoc with the wood finish.
We were both happy to land at Comm Park in Sheffield Lake. The 3 mile paddle wasn't all that arduous and we were actually pretty warm. But there something about men and cold water that makes them need to take a break every so often. The library at the foot of Comm Park was open and we were two of its few customers. It was warm, dry and had a very nice bathroom.
Gary and I took up residence in a meeting room to chat and avoid disturbing the few other folks who wanted to read. A librarian came by asking if we wanted anything and I immediately ordered 2 hot chocolates and a plate of cookies. She chuckled and left. Gary told me some of his adventures.
When we'd pulled the boat up on the beach, Gary had watched carefully as I hauled it over a sand shelf and completely clear of the water. He was very conscious of this. One time up in Quetico he'd returned from a portage to find his canoe adrift, and he'd had to swim like mad, catching it only because it got caught up momentarily in some reeds. Another time on the shores of Lake Superior, despite being hauled high up and turned upside down, wind gusts had caught it and spun it down to the water. It was saved only because it partly filled with water and sank at the shore, where he was able to bail it out. From then on he made a vow to always tie his canoe regardless of how benign the weather.
After our fingers thawed out we strolled back to the beach to find the canoe where we'd left it and the conditions the same as before, but now we'd be going downwind. 'You'll be using that rudder a lot more on our way back' was Gary's comment. And he was right. The rudder was part of the canoe's sailing rig, but I found it very useful in strong winds or correcting for unequal paddler strength and always brought it, sailing or no. Going upwind Gary and I were pretty equally matched. But downwind, the waves coming from behind but also from our left, shoved the stern around and the rudder got a good workout, trying to keep the boat running straight. On some of the bigger waves it was momentarily rendered useless as it came out of the water, but we had no anxious moments.
The temperature must have risen past freezing, as there was no longer any ice on my gloves or the paddle shaft, and it was rapidly disappearing from the deck of the canoe. In less than an hour we were back at Miller Park, having seen only one other craft out, a motorboat also heading for the launch ramp. At first, perhaps at the crest of a wave, he looked to be a big boat, Gary estimated 35 feet, far too large to use a ramp. What was he doing heading into shore? But once we got in behind the breakwall we saw just a 22 footer, out for some late season fishing. Despite the warming temperatures, we still got a surprise at the launch ramp. Gary slipped and fell as he was pulling the bow up the ramp. That ice had not melted. No damage done and we were back at Gary's house for the long awaited hot chocolate and cookies as he told me more about his adventures.
Not long after, we both departed; he for his house chores and I for home and mine. 'Keep an eye out for good weather' he said in parting. 'Maybe we'll get out again before the Lake freezes over'.
Marty Cooperman
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