It happens every time. I've climbed in, chosen my spot, and fastened my seat belt, and then little knot forms in the pit of my stomach and starts to tighten. A seemingly lackadaisical approach to the required paperwork and the offer of battered ear-defenders do little to alleviate my trepidation. But at last the engine fires up and we start to move.
Just then the kid behind the wheel turns around and says “hey, anybody see a map back there?” A frantic search reveals nothing. We're picking up speed now. “No? Like, a yellow one in a plastic bag under the seat?” More very frenzied rummaging about and... nothing. “Oh well, you guys got a park map then?” the kid yells. Now the trees whiz by as we chug along. I quickly dig out our map and hand it to him. He squints at it for a moment, frowns, then turns it right-side up and scrutinizes it again. The tight little knot in my belly has turned into a roiling cauldron of fear. But with a confident bob of his head he drops the map, flicks some switches, guns the engine, and with a sharp jolt we're off. As the floats break free of the water, my fear evaporates into pure, child-like wonder. We're flying! The lake beneath us shrinks and our pilot Ben Fairburn points us west towards clear blue skies and our destination: Woodland Caribou Provincial Park.
Ben isn't just taking us to a remarkable place. He is dropping us off for the start of an incredible journey. We are about to spend two weeks exploring the lakes and rivers of Canada's boreal forest with venerable bushcraft expert Ray Mears and a group of his clients from the UK. As we approach the lake where we're to land (after Ben's repeated scrutiny of our map), I muse on how appropriate it is for us to be relying on this 62-year-old De Havilland Beaver to get us to our put-in. This airplane is considered a workhorse of the North, and the greatest testament to its timeless design is the fact that these old birds have been in the air for 70 years. Like the Beaver, our canoe trip with Ray will be also be a bit of a flight back to the old days and the old ways of the past.
The pontoons gently kiss the surface of Wanda Lake and we taxi to a sandy beach, quickly unload, and then wave as Ben heads home, disappearing with a roar behind a stand of black spruce, the drone of his engine slowly fading leaving us in a complete and total silence. The setting sun brings us to our senses and we spring into action, searching for a campsite for our first night in Woodland Caribou.
My husband Reid and I have been invited along on this trip as Paddle Canada canoe instructors and co-guides. Only part of the group has made the flight in today, so in the failing light we pitch our tents, make a communal dinner, introduce ourselves, and get to know one another. Later as the stars appear, we are treated to the northern lights and serenaded by the distant sound of a waterfall. Morning brings sun, mist, and more aircraft. With the group finally reunited, we hold our first Classic Canoeing paddling lesson and discover that we have very quick learners who listen, watch, and then apply what we have taught them. It is truly rewarding to teach students like these, as they are a rare thing in Canada. Soon we are loaded up and on the water, our UK trip-mates immediately putting into practice all of what we have shown them.
