Wordless Wednesdays: Summer Dreaming

Book Excerpt: The Thrill of Whitewater Canoeing

The portage appeared as we paddled around the pink granite bend, the trailhead shimmering like a mirage in the haze of an August morning. The French River had reached a pinch point, narrowing into Big Pine Rapids. Its volume which had lazily carried us over the last kilometer now poured over rock ledges, rushed around boulders carved smooth from thousands of years of erosion, formed frothy wave trains like the log flume ride at amusement parks. It hurried to the next bay downstream where it sighed relief, slowed its pace, and meandered through the granite and white pines of the Canadian Shield. + Read More

On Portaging

The canoe yoke jostles for position on my shoulders, hitting a vertebra every time it slides up my neck. My shoulders ache with the effort to support my canoe pack and steady the canoe, an unwieldy seventeen-foot, forty-five pound Kevlar seesaw on a sixty-four inch base.

+ Read More

1 2 3 4 5 9