We are building a large shed in the backyard to store all our precious toys.  We don’t have that many actually; 2 kayaks, 1 canoe and a mountain bike.  The canoe has been a bit of a disappointment, it is tipsy and difficult to handle when canoeing single.  The day we bought the canoe, I had my mind made up that we would not need to carry the canoe on the car roof driving at 70 km/hour plugging up the TransCanada highway.  We assembled the canoe (e.g. the seats) at the back of the store offering a free show of ultra keen customers for the amusements of the store employees and an older guy sitting in his rusted minivan probably waiting for his girl friend to finish her shift at the store.  Once done, I proceeded with part 2 of the plan; to drive to the village pier to launch the canoe on the lake, and part 3 to paddle victoriously across the lake to the cabin.

All went well for the 3 km drive to the pier but on arrival, Mimi mentions that the wind has picked up significantly since we first concocted the maiden voyage of the canoe earlier today.  Mimi is quite vocal that the waves are too high and the crossing of the lake is foolish and a recipe for disaster.  Non-sense I say, and we proceed to put our life vest on.  Despite the unseasonably cold April day, the pier is busy; seniors looking around, Chinese tourists that I have no clue who told them that the pier or even Salmon Arm is a tourist attraction in April, and the usual lovers that are oblivious to their surroundings.  It looks like most of them found us entertaining.

After setting the boat in the water, Mark is adamant that the heaviest guy should be at the stern, and I argue that I am the more skillful paddler and therefore I should be at the stern safely steering the canoe across the lake.  I finally get upset and to end the argument, I claim that I am older therefore wiser and I sit at the back.  As we are trying to pedal out of the man made stone walls protecting the pier, tension is high in the canoe and team work is low.  At first, the walls offer some protections from the wind and the waves, but 100 metres out, the waves are spilling over the bow, Mark is now soaked and yelling.  Few inches of water rapidly built up in the canoe, and of course no bailer, but it is totally irrelevant, there is no way I would stop paddling to throw back in the lake few cups of water.  Common sense suddenly strikes me in the face and I scream to Mark that we are turning around.  To paddle back to the takes launch takes less than 10 minutes, we are so exhausted that we slam the canoe on the pier many times before getting to shore.  Mark is furious, swearing that he would never get again in a canoe with me, he also says few things that he has since regretted.

At the boat launch, we met a group of giggly seniors members of a local rowing club, bravely getting into a rowing boat that had about 4 inches of clearance off the water level.  On the pier, I notice that the crowd had not changed since we departed half an hour ago.  As we get closer, I could tell that each one is looking at us or rather daydreaming about the lake, the canoe, the wind, and the birds flying overhead.  Some are experiencing a virtual adventure without having to step into a canoe and facing the elements, others are reliving past souvenirs, awakening dormant emotions and feelings.  An older man catches my attention, he reminds me of my dad.  I can see that he is feeling 14, reliving a fishing trip with his younger brother, paddling down a stormy river and reassuring him that there is a fishing hole just around the bend.

Mimi arrived few minutes later.  Everyone is looking forward to get on with their life and we rapidly secure the canoe on the home made too short roof rack.  The bow is deliberately sticking out 5 feet in front of the car, I know it is the best way to check on the canoe as we are speeding down the TransCanada highway back to the cabin.