100 Lakes on Vancouver Island

2010-01-03T22:32:00.000-08:00

I have been exploring Wikimapia. Interested in contributing some of my data, but not sure this is the best way to do so. The base map is quite out of date, and low resolution over much of the island. Here is a small section for those of you interested:

Flick River

2010-01-02T19:31:00.001-08:00

Kissinger Lake

2009-11-14T10:43:00.000-08:00

Vancouver Island Backroad Mapbook Fouth Edition - Map 9 A1
Atlas of Canada Link: Kissinger Lake
Latitude/Longitude:
Degrees, Minutes, Seconds: 48° 55' 15" N 124° 28' 53" W
Decimal Degrees: 48.921° N 124.481° W
UTM Coordinates: 10U 391470 5419726
Topographic Map Sheet Number: 092C16

Trip Date: June 30, 2009

In the canoe beside me two men cooperate. Patient, they talk out their preferences, a way to paddle together, a civilization of two. I am in a single, responsible only for myself, able to watch human friendship set against a precedent beauty.

Right now they paddle along a shoreline of giant broad leaf maples, the sun illuminating several layers of canopy, leaves like mirrors turning the light away from the dark under story, only the greens getting through, so that even the death of rotten wood and humus is coloured the shade of deep green water. The sun also breaks through to patch the lake with ragged beams through which the paddlers go, paddles glinting brightly on the forward swing.

As is often the case at times like these I think about all this matter bathed in the filtered fission energy that powered out from our very own star. This matter itself the result of ancient cataclysmic star deaths, all those years ago, worked on by time and sunlight, scaled into beings that can balance inside a curving hull. Also, the distant and ancient breath of stars that moved relentlessly through nothing, till it ended abruptly at something, this ball of coagulated earth.

And on the ball, moving like a plague, we engineer a sickness for our grandchildren, a hurdle too high for most animals, no matter how frantically they leap. A rain of bees drops off the grid, a storm of frogs thunders out of existence, the cascade of death like Della falls, spectacular in it's long streak upon the dark stone of history. Only a few of us turn to look, only the odd cocked ear, only a rusty stain of inquisitive sadness on the soul of a few sunburned biologists and we children of privilege. For the majority of us humans existence is a dust of dried sweat and grime to salt our dwellings at the end of a long hard day in the sun. Salt and dust. What we are made of, what we make of things.

Who moves like the moon upon the night, who glides like mist upon a lake, who rides like clouds across a crystal tarn? Not me. Not us. We go down on things, violent scavengers, cunning as knives. And each blow releases from us a larynx keened cry, saddle shinny and brittle as glass, the cry of conscious paradox. What we must do to live is an exquisite sacrifice; we must die a little with each bite we take. Today, for me, it is a swath of forest beyond this happy mere. Today for me it is salty tears for the gaps in that forest.

One of the paddlers with me is a leader in environmentally responsibility. Car poor, bike powered, vegetarian, energy efficient, example to me and others, his values pounding out of him like heartbeats. He has ridden his bike around Cowichan Lake. Not something I would ever do. The other paddler, like me, makes a sincere effort. Middle class piety from our deepest hearts. I felt our good intentions like fellowship as we bounced from pot hole to pot hole in my 4 wheel drive to get to this oasis of calm. Burned fossil fuel mixes with dust along the logging road that leads to Kissinger Lake. A wake of carbon to get to the pristine nature we long to see before it is gone.
On the way here we passed three logging trucks, two with old growth trees filling their trailers. Yes they are still cutting away at the 20% of old growth left on the island. Only 110 hectares of protected Douglas-fir forest remain on the east coast of Vancouver Island, while just two percent have been set aside as federal, provincial and regional parks. It's open season on the rest. According to the Western Canada Wilderness Committee, BC Government studies estimate that the current level of cutting is 30 percent above sustainability. The knives of the forest companies spin on chains. Shouts of "timber" echo across each section cut. The forest peels away like the skin of a fruit under the thumb of hungry homo sapiens. Logs from private land are sent away for someone else to use. On Vancouver Island we are mainly cutters now, working for overlords. Even pulp is mostly made elsewhere. Cutters and scavengers caked in salt and saw dust. Same as it ever was. Same as it ever was.

Two dragon flies collide above me; distract me with their paper crinkling sounds, like paper swords clashing. This particular variety is birdlike with their wing patches and silvery bodies. Damsel flies, two kinds, sway above my gunwales, deciding to land or not. A rough skinned newt surfaces, then begins her lazy decent to the bottom again. I photograph a floating garden, this one featuring a central strand of Sticky False Asphodel and a fringe of Marsh Cinquefoil and the insect eating Sundew, drops of nectar glistening in the sun.

Jalbum

2009-10-02T08:47:00.000-07:00

I tried out the Jalbum site for photo presentation. Pretty nice actually....

http://stillinthestream.jalbum.net/Gray%20Lake/slides/Gray-Lake9d.html

Gray Lake

2009-09-08T20:17:00.000-07:00

Vancouver Island Backroad Mapbook - Map 39 G6
Atlas of Canada Link: Gray Lake
Latitude and Longitude: 50° 3' 25" N - 125° 35' 49" W

Trip Date: August 21st, 2009

There are 4 vehicles already occupying sites when we arrive late Friday night after spending the day working our way up island, stopping to buy groceries and tea at the Courtney Tea Centre - one of the best tea retailers on the Island by the way. The Gray Lake Recreation Site has 6 sites, so we have our choice of two. We quickly set up camp and then head out for a paddle, just as the mist starts to rise off the lake around 8:00 pm.
We paddle north, away from the sandy beach and James heads off into the growing dark. I set up my camera on the tripod and start taking pictures. The aperture is wide open and the shutter speed down to 1.3. I can hardly see anything through the view finder.
After a few minutes the auto focus on my camera stops working, too little light. I set it to manual and keep shooting.
Finally, as the last light ebbs from the sky I get a nice shot of the mist after waiting for the canoe to come to a complete stop and I hold my breath while the shutter yawns open for 3 long seconds.
Within minutes I find it hard to see anything and rummage in my bag for my headlight. Down the lake I see Jame's headlight wink on. There is a chill in the air now and I listen to the silence, the smell of cedar faint and mixed with something indistinct, a soft earthy smell, plant essential oils breaking down after so many long dry days. There is a fire ban, so there is no smoke, no cheery flickering lights along the lake, only the darkness of trees against the slightly less dark blue black sky.

In the morning, startling James with my suggestion to paddle before breakfast, I head for the shore, the canoe beaded with dew, my warm pollen sweater a reminder that late August nights can be cool.

After James has a bowl of cereal he joins me on the water and we paddle down the misty lake, taking it easy, enjoying the atmosphere and watching time pass. On the remote western shore, something large thrashes in the underbrush as we glide by, but we don't see what it is. We keep going to the end of the lake and head up the inflow.

We paddle up stream, water dripping from the bushes on shore, a silence amid the trees that seems to absorb our voices, we talk in low tones, pilgrims visiting a holy site.
After passing an open marshy area, we travel between high rounded black banks, grooved here and there with otter and beaver trails, the sharp tooth-edged stubs of willow and sweet gale where the beavers have harvested. The canoes drift to a stop where the creek turns into a rocky trail, the water to low to paddle further.
We head back, the day still gaining light. On the lake again a woman steps from a camper on shore and seeing us, waves. We wave back. A man steps from the trailer behind her and puts his arm around her waist. We glide on, the bows of our canoes peeling open the refection of the sky.
For more images from this paddle, please visit the photo album here: http://stillinthestream.jalbum.net/Gray%20Lake/index.html

100 Lakes Visited

2009-08-09T10:58:00.000-07:00

Bear Lake

Yesterday I visited the 100th Lake in my exploration of lakes on Vancouver Island. Of those 100 lakes visited I paddled 54, some more than once (Trail Pond, Turtle Lake, Mohun Lake, Bear Lake, Somenos Marsh, and Westwood Lake).

The reasons for not paddling 46 of the 100 were varied. Some had no easy access, or the lakes did not look interesting, or I didn't have sufficient time to paddle the lake on the day I was there, or I ended up paddling somewhere better.

I have posted a list of both the lakes visited and the lakes paddled so far here: http://www.stillinthestream.com/files/lakesvisited.html

Of the lakes visited but not paddled, I plan to paddle 24, but only 10 are high on my list. I still have about 30 other lakes to investigate first. I expect to paddle another half dozen before 2009 comes to an end.

Of the 54 lakes paddled so far only a handful were less enjoyable than I expected before visiting them, and only three actually disappointed me (Cedar Lake, Hawthorn Lake, and Darkis Lake). Some others such as Dougan and Echo Lakes turned out to be prettier to look at from the highway than to paddle on (and both suffered from excessive traffic noise).

Afew turned out to be more rewarding than I expected. Anutz and nearby Atluck Lake both overwhelmed me with their interesting shorelines and scenery while Spirit and Grace lakes provided a sense of remoteness and peacefulness that was out of proportion to their setting. Subtle beauty and a satisfyingly untouched quality seem to be the reason for these shallow quiet lakes charm.

Grace Lake

Some urban lakes turned out to have surprisingly natural shorelines (Thetis Lake and Westwood Lake) while some wild lakes suffered from overuse as evidenced by severely trampled and eroded shorelines (Spectacle, Peak, and Twin Lake).

Peak Lake

I have learned how much water level can effect the feel of a lake. Somenos Lake dropped 4 or 5 feet over a few months changing the paddling experience significantly, and the exposed beaches of Buttle, Elsie, Darkis, and Klaklakama Lakes detract from otherwise promising locations.

Some of the jewels of the island felt vulnerable and fragile. Mohun and Amor lakes are world class paddling destinations yet active logging throughout the Sayward Forest threatens to reduce the recreational value significantly. Many areas are closed for logging and I will be returning after the fact to see what is left. This whole area should be protected for posterity now. While the logging that is going on is responsible, it's just too pretty an area to scar with clear cuts.

Mohun Lake

Other gems, like the swamps and lakes of the Stamp and Ash valleys are on private land and at the mercy of the giant forest companies who own them.

Moran Swamp

Pat Bell, minister of forest and range, said in response to recent questions about the status of large trees on Vancouver Island that sufficient old growth is already protected - the rest is free to be logged. This comment reinforces his January declaration that the old growth ecosystem is amply protected. Mr. Bell sees no reason to protect more forest from the saws. I do.

I witnessed in July of this year one logging truck on the Cowichan Highway (Hwy 18) with three massive tree trunks filling it's trailer. These are very large old-growth trees, and the loggers are obviously active in our woods getting every last one.

I need to learn more about the BC government system and discover if it is possible to bring the aesthetic quality of our wetlands and forest into focus before it is too late. How can such beauty be destroyed for the profit of so few when if they are protected they can benefit so many for so many years to come?

Surely money isn't the only abstract construct that can be extracted from these locations. Should poetry, tranquility, and the healing power of nature feature in my writing? A lake without a large clear cut beside it is significantly more attractive than a lake with a tiny ribbon of trees between it and the surrounding expanses of dead stumps, slash, and torn up soil. Will it help to paint this picture? Can my writing and photography have any effect?

Hand Made Paddles

2009-08-02T19:14:00.000-07:00

James and I stand in the airy workshop of Larry Bowers. Around us are the hulls of canoes Larry is building, in various states of completion. There is a sweet smell of wood and varnish. Larry takes from the wall several patterns for canoe paddles and we ask him about the advantages of each. He shares stories about a few of the paddles he has made. We look at and hold a few of his favourites. Paddles, even more than canoes, connect us to water. Beautiful paddles connect us to something deeper.

James has done his research. He laid out his findings to me on the drive from Nanaimo to Campbell River where Larry lives and runs his business. James is keen on a traditional Algonquin blade patter n and his reasoning is this: the Algonquin blade has a slightly narrowed and rounded tip, allowing a clean entry to the water with less friction than other designs. Between a ½ and ¾ of the way up the blade it widens slightly before tapering back to the shaft. The advantage of this shape is that when the blade is drawn back from that initial entry and submerged fully beside the canoe the wider section of the blade engages at a point where the arms have their greatest leverage, putting the maximum blade surface in the water during the most powerful portion of the stroke.

It is a logical and persuasive argument and as we stand looking at the templates we listen to Larry tell of the two paddles he has favoured over the years. One of them is very close to the shape of the Algonquin blade. Both James and I decide to order this blade shape from Larry. But I am also attracted to an unusual shaped blade that Larry describes as a Cree design. He tells us that he used the template to build a paddle once but that he rounded the tip more, moving the shape from an exaggerated “tip-heavy” design to a more beavertail-style tip. It turned out to be a good one.

Unlike a standard beaver tail, this “Larry Bowers” custom shape (on the left in the picture above) has the long straight sides of the Cree style with the pleasing tip of the beavertail. I decide on this blade shape for my second paddle. It seems to defy the logic associated with the Algonquin blade, and while my rational mind is warning me to reconsider the choice I have a strong intuition telling me there is something right about the shape. I wonder if I am being drawn in by the novelty of it or maybe it’s aesthetics, but secretly hope there something I don’t know yet about this design that makes it a winner.

Next we talk about shaft length. I produce from the vehicle an old cheap beavertail paddle which I inherited from my father and found to be just the right length for the low paddling station of my Placid Boatwork made Spirtfire pack canoe. For the Algonquin blade I request the shorter shaft length creating a 58 inch paddle with 25 inches of shaft and 27 inches of blade, 3 inches of throat, and 3 inches of grip. I learn later that this is a very close to the average for historical paddles that Doug Ingram reports in his online article, Historic Paddle Reproductions (http://www.redrivercanoe.ca/Historic%20Paddles.htm).

I order the Cree blade in the dimensions that Larry recommends, trusting this craftsman’s experience and familiarity with the material. At 59 and ½ inches it will be longer than any of my other single blade paddles and I plan to use it primarily with the Solo+.

John Bell of Red Tail Paddles states, “Probably 90% of all adults can use a 54 inch paddle with a 20 inch blade,” though Bell does make paddles up to 63 inches long. His comment worries me, causing me to wonder if the Cree paddle will be too long, but then when I browse pictures of old voyageurs in their canoes and recovering from the day’s paddling in their 19th century camps, I notice how long and thin their paddles are. The voyageurs used various lengths of paddles but almost all of them had thin blades because they paddled hard and fast. Such hard fast paddling put tremendous strain on the paddles and ones made of spruce, though light, broke often. Therefore the Voyageurs chose hardwoods for their paddles, and made many of them, often on route.

The paddles Larry makes for us are a combination of spruce and yew (Spruce on the left above, and Yew on the right). The spruce is Sitka Spruce, a clear springy wood from the noble giants made famous on Vancouver Island as part of the sky garden ecosystem studied in the Carmanah Canopy Project.

The Sitka Spruce tree grows with a very straight trunk and is one of the tallest on the coast, only surpassed by the Douglas Fir and Western Hemlock. The light straight grained wood is used for everything from guitars to boats and contains pleasing mottling where the wood is rounded. The yew wood used in our paddles has a pedigree.

Sometime before his death in 1944 my grandfather strode into a forest near Nelson and cut down some yew trees. As a woodworker raising a family through the great depression he made a wide assortment of wooden objects for people, from cabinets to houses. The Yew he prized for rifle stocks. Two pieces of yew were carefully dried and stored for future use. The years passed and my father inherited the wood and stored it in our woodshed where I saw it from time to time while growing up. When my parents moved to a smaller house upon retirement the yew wood passed on to me. It sat in my woodshed for another 10 years.

Larry explains to us that he regularly uses the hard and durable yew wood laminated onto spruce to create a resilient and responsive paddle. Larry demonstrates by leaning hard on his own laminated spruce and yew paddle so that the paddle bends dramatically and springs back. Yew was a choice wood for archery bows for centuries and is still used today for this function.

A few months after we placed our order Larry calls to tell us the paddles are ready. We head to Campbell River to pick them up. They are beautiful hanging in his shop and I can’t help grinning as we examine their beautiful smooth surfaces and deep natural colors.

After chatting with Larry for awhile we stop only briefly for cheesecake at Cheescake 101 a short distance from Larry’s shop, before beetling out to Echo Lake to try out the new paddles. Larry has also given us to try a paddle he just made for himself, along with a much shorter paddle that James spied in Larry’s shop.

On the water I notice immediately that the paddles feel too long for the pack canoes, but a curious thing happens. The very long Cree style paddle has an interesting quality. Trying to lift the long blade clear of the water proves to be a little awkward but keeping the blade in the water and knifing it forward in an Indian stroke is enjoyable and effective. The power in the correction is impressive as the long blade rises almost vertically at the end of the power stroke before slicing forward for the next stroke.

I look over at James and notice that he is trying different holds on Larry’s paddle, abandoning the high grip and grasping the paddle at varying heights along the shaft.

I switch to the shorter Algonquin blade that I had designed specifically for this boat and appreciate immediately the familiar shaft length from my Dad’s old paddle. Interestingly, however, the paddle does not function as well on the Canadian stroke. I adjust myself accordingly and find the Indian stroke works extremely well with this paddle. James passes off Larry’s paddle to me and I pass over my paddle with the shaft length 3 inches shorter than his. He tries them both and decides that for his Rapidfire a shaft length somewhere in the middle would be perfect.

The following weekend I take my Wenonah Solo+ to Westwood Lake, the water jammed to overflowing with Nanaimoites seeking relief from the 37 degree summer hot spell. I paddle to the far end of the lake, trying my two new paddles and comparing them with my shorter Redtail Ottertail as I go.

The Redtail is 53 and ½ inches long, a full 6 inches shorter than my new Larry Bowers Cree, and a mere ½ inch shorter than John Bell’s recommended average. The Redtail Ottertail and the new Algonquin are almost identical in blade shape, the Algonquin blade being about 3 and ½ inches longer with a ½ inch longer neck transition. They perform similarly, but the slightly longer blade on the Algonquin gives a notably better grip on the water, and the bobbled grip allows me to spin the paddle effortlessly while performing the Indian stroke.

The Cree surprises me by feeling less substantial than the Algonquin in the Solo+ and I compare the blade shapes and discover that while they are identical in length, the Algonquin is wider in the middle. This slight difference is noticeable on an extended paddle around the lake. Both blades whistle nicely on the forward underwater slice and the do not seem to resist as much as the Redtail.

Sure enough, on examining the blade edges Larry’s paddles are more knife-like at the edges and the blades are noticeably thinner. I spend about an hour sculling and testing pries, jams, and reverse sculls. For all these actions the Cree style is superior, though challengingly exact in a bow jam, perhaps because of the long length and the Solo Plus’ minimally rockered hull and sharp entry lines.

I find a private bay on the south western end of the lake and practice maneuvering between the many deadheads and dead trees there. The limitations of the Solo+ in such situations becomes apparent. This straight tracking canoe with it’s excellent secondary stability is not easy to spin, even when heeled.

The surprises of the paddles and my continuing curiosity over the blade shapes drive me to research. I get the best book I can find on the subject out of the library — Graham Warren and David Gidmark’s Canoe Paddles: A Complete Guide to Making Your Own. On page 12 of this detailed and informative work I see a diagram of a Passamaquoddy paddle which is very close to the “Cree” design Larry showed us. On the same page the Algonquin shape is clearly illustrated. The Cree paddle diagram on the page is similar, but has a clear transition at the neck, but on the next page is a Western Cree paddle that has less of a distinct transition. I study the drawings in detail and decide that Larry’s design in a cross between the Passamaquoddy and the Cree. It has the long blade and straight taper of the Cree, with the smooth neck of the Passamaquoddy.

A few days later I am browsing Bark Canoes: The Art and Obsession of Tappan Adney by John Jennings, when I come across, on page 80, a paddle blade that almost exactly matches the design. It is an Iroquois paddle (pictured above). Later in the same book, page 127, is another paddle that looks similar leaning against an Ojibway Style Tetes de Boule canoe that Abney found in Grand Piles Quebec in 1925. (see below)

Warren and Gidmark put Iroquois blades in three catagories: Beavertail, Elongated beavertail, and Straight-sided rounded. Ojibiway paddles turn up under Elongated beavertail and Straight-sided rounded, as well as Ottertail.

Of the 10 basic categories Warren and Gidmark sort all historic blades into, 5 have the widest part of the blade near the middle of the blade, 2 have the widest part near the neck, and 3 have the widest part near the tip. Clearly the majority of blade shapes from indigenous tribes of North America place the widest part of the blade near the middle to take advantage of the mechanics James had described to me earlier.

I finally decide that the 9th category most closely fits my Cree style blade, what Warren and Gidmark call the “Straight-sided, rounded” blade.

A search online of the major paddle manufacturers reveals that most produce a version of the Ottertail, Beaver Tail, Elongated Beaver Tail, or the contemporary White water paddle (large surface square bottom). One company, Shaw and Tenney, has a paddle they call the Racine. They explain that it is a replication of a paddle originally sold by the Racine Canoe Company of Wisconsin. The paddle was offered with the sale of each Racine Canoe Company wood/canvas canoe sold until the company went out of business in the 1920’s. Shaw and Tenney report that the Racine is becoming their best selling paddle with many repeat orders. They claim that it is a very quiet paddle, and, because the blade is only 5” wide, lends itself well to the North Woods stroke as well as to solo paddling. The Racine is available in the two original lengths, 58-1/2" and 63-1/2", which they say seem to work perfectly for everyone.

I can find no other paddle on the market that matches the profile of Larry's Cree design. Even the Racine is closer to the Algonquin design with its very slightly tapering tip. Interestingly the majority of traditional wooden paddle builders (Turtle, Kettelwell, Redtail, Greyowl, and Shaw and Tenney) sell version of the Ottertail or Algonquin, usually with a Beavertail or two to round out the selection. A few, such as the noteworthy Whiskyjack, almost exclusively produce modified white water blades. Still others such as Anderson, Carlisle, Cricket, Foxworx, and Sawyer, produce beefy versions of the ottertail and Algonquin along with a plethora of square bottomed whitewater styles.

Beefy blades with areas larger than 140 square inches are generally recommended for short tripping, white water, and sprint racing, as well as dragon boating and stand up paddle boarding. The larger area provides greater thrust. Thrust is proportional to blade area according to Warren and Gidmark (blade area x (stroke rate)2 and sustainable stroke rate is proportional to 1/(blade area). Stroke rate has a greater effect than blade area does because its contribution is squared. Aspect ratio is another important factor in beefy blades. Short fat blades exhibit more drag than long narrow ones of the same surface area. So in effect you get more bang for your buck with a short fat blade. Shorter blades are also easier to handle when the blade is lifted out of the water while paddling or when switching sides. But short fat blades have a few drawbacks. Firstly they are more difficult to keep close to the hull when paddling and secondly they splash more on entry. Also they flutter more when doing a below water slice and tend to catch and veer more in the hands of a novice.

The lower aspect paddles, on the other hand, while providing less overall drag, go deeper into denser water, slice better, and enter the water with less splash. Low aspect paddles are longer, and therefore less effective in shallow water but more effective for long reaching braces. A low aspect paddle with a blade that concentrates more area farther away from the paddler’s fulcrum (like my Cree style paddle does) provides more leverage making it better for sculling and steering. Doug Ingram of Red River Canoe & Paddle is a paddle builder who helped clarify for me the great diversity in Paddle blades. Ingram produces the widest range of blade shapes on the market and his Cree replica convinced me that Larry was, not surprisingly, right to call my paddle a Cree design.

Ingram writing about historic North American paddles says, “Amongst the many different blade shapes that have been conceived, traditional blades can be loosely categorized as being either straight-sided or round-sided. Surface areas are concentrated near the throat, evenly along the length, or near the tip. Tips are pointed, rounded, or blunt. I began to wonder what, then, are the constants of these traditional designs. Blade length varies, but averages in the 27- to 30-inch range. Width also varies, but blades are rarely wider than 6 inches.” Ingram’s conclusions were that trial and error sifted out the lengths and blade shapes that survived.

Ventilation seems to be an important factor in this sifting process. Large blades with abrupt transitions at the throat allow air to enter behind the paddle, making them inefficient if paddled too quickly. The other factor that creates ventilation is when the blade is not fully immersed in the water. The short fat blades lose most of their aspect ratio advantage if the blades are not fully immersed while paddling.

Intuition and time on the water teaches most people this lesson, and I notice when teaching new paddlers that I often have to encourage them to get their blade hand close to or in the water. This advice does two things. It fully immerses the paddle blade and lowers the paddle overall, bringing the grip hand lower as well. Many photos of people paddling, including two of the 4 pictures on the inside cover of the instruction booklet that comes with every Wenonah canoe, show paddlers with their grip hand high in the air, sometimes over their heads!

The optimal position advocated by many instructors is to have the grip hand move in an area between the shoulder and the lower ribs. Never higher than the chin. Doug Ingram introduced me to several helpful ideas in his article. Most important was his description of the “Northwoods Stoke” which seems to be a modified Canadian stroke that keeps both arms low to the gunwales. The lower the arms, the less energy is used holding them and the paddle in the air.

I now finally understand the purpose of the large grips on so many traditional paddles. The way of holding the paddle grip in the Northwoods Stroke had never occurred to me but I plan on experimenting with it in the future.

There is not a lot of information out about the Northwoods Stroke online but Ingram’s own photos are clear, and several helpful discussions exist on various forums about the style. Another idea introduce to me in Ingram’s article is that of the round Cree grip. This is perhaps the best article on the internet about historic paddles. I encourage you to read the whole piece at

http://www.redrivercanoe.ca/Historic%20Paddles.htm

For additional images of my new paddles go to the photo album: http://www.stillinthestream.com/files/Paddles/index.html

Aesthetic Value is as Important as Economic Value

2009-07-23T17:14:00.000-07:00

On my travels around Vancouver Island I see first hand the ugly impact of logging on our own rainforests. I'm not against responsible logging, but we have to leave larger areas of old growth to preserve the genetic diversity and aesthetic value that used to dominate this island.

I wonder if people realize how much beauty has already been lost. It is staggering. Almost all the lakes I visit have ugly logged sections around them. It takes 300 years to grow a mature forest. We are not going to see them again in our lifetime, so we should think seriously about how much we cut down. Aesthetic value needs to be recognized along with economic value.

If you walk in an old growth forest, or paddle beside one, it changes you, and if you plant and protect more forests, they can save the world. Where are BC's environmental laws? Almost non-existant. If our government won't respond to this urgent need, we need to look elsewhere. Here is a way you can help:

Anutz Lake

2009-07-02T19:33:00.000-07:00

Vancouver Island Backroad Mapbook - Map 36 D1
Atlas of Canada Link: Anutz Lake
Latitude and Longitude: 50^o 17' 59" N - 126^o 55' 0" W

Trip Date: June 21st, 2009

I arrive late Sunday afternoon, wind blowing straight at the beach, sun bleaching the view. An assortment of robins work the Thimble Berry and Pacific Ninebark bushes. No one is at the site but there are deep ATV ruts along the beach and in the middle of the field, a circle where an ATV went around and around. It feels a bit like a ghost town.

I decide to camp close behind the row of bushes that separate the beach from the campsites.
I cook dinner, read for awhile, then explore the beach to the west and discover a place where water has created a flow of limestone out from a small opening in the rock — a white tongue of stone. I climb up onto a 14 foot high rock outcropping and watch the waves, listen to the wind in the forest.
Red Paintbrush shocks from side to side in the wind. I scramble down onto some lower rocks worn by water, the waves making hollow gurgling sounds below my feet somewhere under the rock.
Then around the corner I find a sculpted stone with a hole right through the middle.
I explore the forest; find a trail that leads back to the campsites through a nice mature second growth woodland, stopping briefly to admire a patch of Pacific Lilly of the Valley.
Still no-one at the campsite when I break out of the forest into the open field. The 10,000 clusters of Pacific Ninebark blossoms bob at the margin of the meadow, Yellow Salmon Berriers, gone pink where eaten by some animal shine in the growing dark.
I photograph a Nootka Rose and examine the berries forming on a twinberry bush, the woundlike bracts somehow disquieting my mind when I look at them up close. I crane my neck to look at mares tails in the sky, listen to a bird call I don’t recognize, the sound like a child’s toy whistle, a single rising note, as if questioning, tentatively, the coming night.
I accept that the wind is not letting up tonight, return to my camp, try to read but the noseeums find me. I put on bug spray. A male grouse thumps his call, almost too low to hear, while the robins give up their evening melodies to a scattered ramble of chirps. Sky goes pink, then a few puffy clouds are left, orange around the edges.
Then the silence after climbing into my sleeping bag inside my tent. I fall asleep sometime after 10:30, wake after midnight chilled and pull on my sweater, the tips of the trees out the tent window are still against the dark grey sky. The night never gets completely dark in June. At 3:00 I wake and listen to the grouse call, It is the only sound in the darkness. At 6:00 I scramble out of the tent and walk to the beach. The sun is just lighting up the peaks of the Karmutzen Range (Nimpkish Lake was named Karutzen lake for awhile) and a mist is rising from the lake.
I hurry back, put my down vest over my wool sweater, then the PFD, pulling on my paddling boots and gortex pants. I take down my canoe, load up some food and other supplies and am on the water in a few minutes, paddling towards the western area where two creeks empty into a marshy estuary.
Fish that have been lolling at the surface break away from me in the early light and disappear amid the Lilly pads.
The current moves in swirls between the floating pads and I can see that a beaver has been at work attempting to bridge the entire estuary with a low dam. I find an opening and push through.
There turn out to be three inflows; all but one shrouded with sedges and rushes and the middle one has a curious feature. A log is wedged between the banks, forming a natural dam so that the water on the other side of the log is several feet higher than where I float in my canoe. There is a deep hollow sound of water like the sound of a bathtub filling as the water flows from beneath the log into a collection of smaller debri and I wonder how long this tiny cascade will exist. I listen to it for awhile before exploring some of the floating gardens growing on the ends of a half submerged logs. Yellow Monkey Flowers bob over the water along side Fire weed and gracefully curving sedges, each blade pointed with a shinning drop of dew.
I turn and paddle down the western shore towards the river that connects Anutz and Nimpkish Lake. Stickleback cruse in the shallow water along the river banks, a king fisher skims the surface going past fast, his flight arch taking him sharply up to light on a tree branch, scold me, then head off down river. The current picks up over the shallow bars of gravel, then deep clear pools green towards the stony bottom. Widgeon grass sways like the skirts of a Hawaiian dancer as I go around a corner and under an overhanging tree.
I pass two side channels which I know are oxbows from examining the area on Google Earth. Then the final long stretch and the narrowing just before Nimpkish Lake, where the old pilings are. I drift out into the lake on the current, paddle to shore and stroll the beach, eating a granola bar and drinking some water.

The sun crests over the mountain but only flashes briefly before disappearing behind clouds; there is a tiny riffle far out on Nimpkish Lake. I take off my down vest and drink some more water.
The paddle back upriver is slower, working only slightly harder against the current. Robins, always lots of robins, call in the salal and I turn in at the first oxbow to listen to them. There is a family of mergansers, the young fledglings lanky and shy, and as I drift towards them the hen takes flight, the ducklings disappear under the brown surface like skin divers. I turn around and head back, but some of the ducklings have surfaced behind me, lurking under the edges of Lilly Pads, and I startle them back underwater. Out on the river again I turn upstream and the hen angles in behind me to find her offspring.
I notice a beaver lodge I hadn’t seen on the way downstream. New branches are piled on one side, leaves wilting, the bone-white cuts concave and drying in the still air. As I turn the corner and make my way up the straight run to Anutz Lake a bald eagle circles above the tall pine trees that grow along the eastern shore. I suspect these trees are old; beyond the reach of loggers in the marshlands. As I stop to look at them the waves from my boat reach the shore and rebound back, so that I am rocked gently in their soundless echo.
Half way across Anutz the sun breaks out, I take a picture of the vista, with sunlight on different altitudes of land. In the middle of the lake I can not hear anything.
The green of the new sedges along the shore glows in the sun, a warmth that goes deep into the brain, gentle x-rays etching solitude in memory.

For More photos of this trip, see the gallery here: http://www.stillinthestream.com/files/AnutzLake/index.html

Hawthorn Lake

2009-05-16T08:27:00.000-07:00

Vancouver Island Backroad Mapbook - Map 15 B6
Atlas of Canada Link: Hawthorn Lake
Latitude and Longitude: 49^o 3' 0" N - 124^o 46' 0" W

Trip Date: April 23rd, 2009

I spent the day exploring lakes along Bamfield Road. Unable to find a trail to Black Lake, I decided to head for Lizard Pond, but encountered active logging just past Hawthorn Lake. So I returned to Hawthorn and put in with fairly low expectations. I followed a pair of Barrow's Golden Eyes for several meters and was surprised when they did not fly away. As my canoe drifted sideways while I stopped paddling to raise the camera for a shot, the size of my profile suddenly registered as a threat and they took off. I later encountered more Golden Eye on the far side of the lake, and they too were slow to spook.

These are perhaps my favorite local freshwater duck -- much more impressive than the Common Goldeneye. This little sea duck is less dramatic than the Wood Duck, but more aproachable, and the startling contrast of the male's purple head with the yellow eye ring can be quite entrancing.

Shortly after that I observed numerous newts sunning at the surface of the lake, only tilting downward as I approached. A flash of orange belly as they turned to dive confirmed for me that they were Taricha granulosa, the Rough-Skinned Newt.

The Rough Skinned Newt is the only newt I have observed so far on Vancouver Island. The other common resident Aquatic Salamanders, the Northwestern Salamander, and the Long-Toed Salamander, have so far eluded me, but the Rough Skinned Newt seems to be everywhere. I have seen them in roadside ponds near Courtenay, and in McNair Lake near Campbell River. On McNair, I was fortunate to see a group of them gathered in a ball, a behavior I first read about in Corkran and Thoms' Amphibians of Oregaon, Washington, and British Columbia, the book I recommend to budding phibs, or amphibian watchers like myself.

Still Water Fishing Information on Helpful DVD

2009-03-09T00:14:00.000-07:00

Winter weather curtailed your paddling? I have been using the time to write and research. I watched Go Fish BC’s DVD two disk set, “How to Catch Steelhead, Salmon, and Trout.” The entire first disk is dedicated to stillwater fishing and while it is largely filmed in the Okanogan, most of the information, with adjustments for time of year, apply to the lakes on Vancouver Island.

The DVD is available at Walmart, Gone Fishin' in Port Alberni, and Ed's Fix It Shop in Lake Cowichan, and the Vancouver Island Regional Library. Not perhaps the most informative production I have ever seen, it is never the less a good introduction to fly fishing with chironomid and mayfly patterns. The camera work is clear, with only a few unhelpful off target frames, and the conversational style natural and informative.

One thing I was struck by was the quantity and quality of the gear used. From the power boat to the multiple reals and lines, fishing is not presented as a poor man's sport. Oh well, I was able to add a few things to my wish list.

New Forum for Paddlers to Share Info About Lakes on Vancouver Island

2009-02-18T10:03:00.000-08:00

I just started a group on "The Canoeist" and would like to invite all Vancouver Island paddlers who are interested to visit and post trip reports, photos, videos, etc. and to join in discussing favorite lakes to paddle, directions to the best put ins, camping spots, and all that helpful stuff that can make all the difference when paddling new water.

I will be moderating the group in a very easy going fashion, so feel free to participate and make others feel at home.

Here is the link: http://www.thecanoeist.com/group/lakesonvancouverisland

Moran Swamp

2008-11-29T23:36:00.000-08:00

Vancouver Island Backroad Mapbook - Map 24 D6
Atlas of Canada Link: Moran Swamp
Latitude and Longitude: 49^o 22' 0" N - 125^o 1' 0" W

Trip Date: June 7th, 2008

Constantine Samuel Rafinesque-Schmaltz was an odd fellow. He could not stop naming things in Latin. Born in 1783, by the age of twelve he knew botanical Latin and started a collection of plants (a herbarium) which grew into thousands of specimens until it was lost, along with his collections of shells (60,000 of them) when the ship carrying both, and 50 boxes of his books, sank off the coast of Connecticut in 1815. It is hard to imagine what a loss of this magnitude would do to an collector of his caliber but apparently undeterred by this disaster Sam began collecting again and by 1818 (two years later) he had collected and named more than 250 brand new species of plants and animals. His unquenchable desire to find and name things in the natural world is perhaps unparalleled by any other human. We have Sam to thank for naming both the mule dear(Odocoileus hemionus) and the white footed mouse (Peromyscus leucopus), two of my personal favourites.

In Medical Flora, a Manual of the Medical Botany of the United States of North America published in 1828 Sam wrote that the underside of the water shield leaf is "...covered with a coat of pale jelly, sometimes purplish, first described by Schreber (Johann Christian Daniel von Schreber)" He went on to explain that, " ...the leaves afford one of the few instance of pure homogeneous vegetable jelly, being spontaneously produced, and covering the whole under surface of the leaves and the stem. Deer and cattle are very fond of eating these leaves; (the animals) even swim in the water in search of them. They are mucilaginous, astringent, demulcent, tonic and nutritious. The fresh leaves may be used like lichen in pulmonary complaints and dysentery. When dry the gelatinous matter almost disappears yet they impart mucilage to water...unnoticed as yet by all medical writers but well known to the Indians."

A scanned copy of the book is available online (http://www.botanicus.org/title/b12058269) and from it one gets the undeniable impression of a man manic for meticulous observation and curious about the healing properties of plants.

I thought about old Sam while puffing my way up through the forest from Moran Swam with my canoe on my shoulder. I wondered what it must have been like to be the first person to put a name to a new plant, to categorize it and research its medicinal properties. Much of Rafinesque's information of the medicinal properties of the plants was gleaned from first nations experience with the plants and as I read them, I wondered what process first nation's people went through to test each plant. It is ancient knowledge, I suspect, passed on from nameless healers in the distant past.

As it turns out the tender jelly-caked floating leaves of Water Shield that are so sought after by deer and cows are also prized by Japanese culinary mavens. The young curled leaf tips, replete with the thick transparent mucilage, are eaten as a salad with vinegar, sake and soy sauce. They are also used to thicken some soups. In Japan, transparent bottles full of the delicacy line the shelves of better markets. Similar in nutritional make up to other greens like spinach, their unique texture has kept me from harvesting them for my own table. Maybe I need the recipe for the vinegar, sake, and soy sauce combination. Lots of sake I suspect.

As I reached the road -- the shoulder muscles under my canoe spasming -- I pondered how many edible plants surround the average paddler, sliding past bull rushes, and bog lilies. Of course edible does not equate to palatable. I had read that indigenous residents of our coast picked and ate vast numbers of Salal berries and so plucked some ripe ones at the end of a long warm August and popped them in my mouth. Pithy and sour, I could imaging enjoying only their laxative properties, the taste disappearing in the overwhelming texture of fibre and roughage. Unlike the less plentiful but equally well utilized huckleberry, I do not seek out Salal berries to supplement my mid day meals.

I am, at the end of a long day paddling, often humbled and awed by the myriad bounty in the woods, and especially on the margins of any waterway. Salmon berries are always a favourite and I was surprised one year to discover that the large skunk cabbage leaf carefully pressed from the year before had turned into a remarkably resilient parchment on which I could write notes. But the real wonder was the smell. Unlike the flower, the skunk cabbage leaf, when dried, becomes faintly fragrant and it is not at all an unpleasant fragrance. I plan, at some distant date, perhaps when I retire, to take dried skunk cabbage leaves, blend and screen them and see what kind of paper they will make.

Moran Swamp contains wonders beyond water shield and skunk cabbage, however. It contains the beautiful Eriophorum Chamissonis or Chamisso's Cotton-Grass. I had never noticed this wonderful reed in seed before. I had driven all day, visited different lakes in search of something special, felt frustrated because I had run into snow on the way to Oshinow Lake, and had finally settled for the floating honey dew gardens of Lois Lake, before packing up to head home near 8:00 pm. The summer sun was descending and I was wondering if I could find some place to explore and photograph during the golden hour just before sunset. I had passed the turn off to Moran Swam earlier in the day and my heart had fallen because a crew of loggers was working the ridge beside the swamp harvesting every tree and filling the air with the smell of sawdust and diesel. It is private land, however, and I respect the crew's dominion so I had driven past.

Now however, on the way back, I saw no sign of activity, and decided to try an old road I knew of that ran below where the crew had been working, hoping that it might still lead to the edge of the swamp. The old road turned out to be badly overgrown and Alder branches squealed and rasped along the side of my Tracker as I made my way along it. I kept looking through the forest on my left for any sign of a path or trail down to the swamp.

The Road suddenly climbed sharply and merged with a secondary road which turned me directly into the active cut. Large road building machinery sat motionless like slumbering dinosaurs and I drove past several of these muddy toothed giants until I reached a sign that forbade me to travel further. I got out and looked down the road and could just see in the distance the area that used to give access to the swamp. It was now buried by a massive pile of logs. I turned around and drove back along the recently widened spur looking through the trees towards the swamp. Gaps in the branches gave occasional glimpses of open water with sunlight slanting through rugged shore pines on the far shore. After backtracking one more time, I finally settled on a route that began as a steep bank down into a dark forest and then pushed out through dense bushes onto a soggy and bushy shoreline.

With my canoe slung on my shoulder, paddles and camera in the other hand, and wearing my pfd, I made my way with some effort to the water's edge. I wore knee high paddling boots, which sunk deeply into the reedy meridian of the swamp and when the mud was finally up to the tops of the boots, I set the canoe down and climbed in, pushing my way through the remaining 6 or 8 more feet of soggy reed zone before breaking out onto the open water of the swamp, startling a passing beaver, who slapped her tail wildly and dove under the canoe. She surfaced on the other side a few minutes later to watch me intently before slapping again and then surfaced again on the other side of my boat. She continued to swim near by, occasionally diving with the slap of her tail until I had paddled out into the middle of the open water. I was hot from struggling through the bushes with the canoe on my shoulder and I welcomed a gentle breeze that riffled the water of the swamp as I paddled along. I made my way toward the island which forms the centre of the swamp, and smiled with delight at the sunlight illuminating the sedges and rushes that bordered the island.

Sedges blowing in the wind glinted pleasingly in late sunlight and I thought of a woman's clean hair. The sound it made in the breeze reminded me of the rustle of skirts, and I had to quell the urge to anthropomorphize the swamp as a living presence birthing graceful water spirits. The beauty, however, was stimulating - the brilliant greens of the sedges in the setting sun, the skeletal trunks of dead trees next to dark green moss-hung living companions, the densely crowded hummocks rising here and there from the water crowned with bobbing white flower heads. It seemed like a planted garden, a carefully tended space that someone had worked at diligently for years until the Sweet Gale formed cloud-like pillows above the darkening water.

I paddled around the island, watching a bald eagle chased by smaller birds, listening to the evening call of sparrows, the distant gawk of a raven, and finally, just as the sun is winking out behind the western ridge, a loon, somewhere on the other side of the marsh. Then, rounding a corner, I saw the Cotton-Grass. Like characters from Dr. Seuss the tufted heads rocked on the shoulders of their tall graceful stems and the sunlight yellowed the trees behind them giving the scene a dreamlike feel. I idled along the shoreline my eyes skipping from tawny tuft to tawny tuft. I realized that few people would see what I was seeing, that quiet, nameless garden rising to fame in the obscurity of my little mind. I considered that no one knew where I was, that quite possibly no one else had seen this estate of enchantment. Certainly not as I was seeing it then, light draining from the sky, greens resolving into darkness beneath the hemlock and fir.

So as I strapped the canoe onto the Tracker, thinking of Samuel Rafinesque and his passion for naming, I tried to think of my own label for this place. profundus tabernus silentium (beautiful hut of silence) or perhaps, locus recolligo una profundus (place where little combinations flock into beauty). I thought of Sam, gone so many years, and felt a kinship with him, my own odd delight in finding words for a place of wonder, bordered so close by the buzz of cutting chains and rumbling reapers, my herbarium tucked away as pixels on a thin magic wafer inside my camera.

For more photos of Moran Swamp, in higher resolutions, visit the "pictures only" page that accompanies this trip report at: http://www.stillinthestream.com/files/MoranSwamp/index.html

©Richard R. Powell

Amor Lake

2008-05-13T22:11:00.000-07:00

Vancouver Island Mapbook - Map 40 A3
Atlas of Canada Link: Amor Lake
Latitude and Longitude: 50o 10' 0" N - 125o 32' 59" W

Trip Date: May 4th, 2008

The day before our trip it rained. The next morning the sky was grey and wind chilled our hands as we strapped the canoes onto the Tracker. The weather forecast said the sun would come out; there would be some late afternoon wind, but not a drop of rain. The next day would be clear and calm. I read several different reports and said a prayer. Then we headed out.

Just past Courtney the sky lightened and by the time we reached Campbell River the sun was out. We arrived at the lake in the early afternoon, backed our Tracker to the water’s edge and loaded our supplies and gear into the canoes. The put in is a pretty spot where the lake funnels all the water collected from surrounding Mud, Twin, and Surprise Lakes, and several smaller un-named bodies, into the creek that leads to Blackwater Lake, then Farewell Lake, and on down to Amor de Cosmos creek which flows through McCreight Lake before finally exiting into the Johnson Strait.
Several aluminium skiffs bumped gently against logs with powerful looking outboard motors raised and glinting in the sun. In a campsite on the far side of the creek a Great Dane and another large dog barked menacingly at us till their owners shushed them. The two beasts stood erect watching us with the slight tremors you see in animals trained to stay, but itching to give pursuit.

We pushed the canoes into the channel and began paddling away. A robin sat on a log watching us as we made the small adjustments of gear and foot pegs necessary to get comfortable in a boat with a larger load than usual.

Then we were pushing out, past the confines of the protective cove, past three men in a power boat attempting to negotiate a shallow channel that connects behind one of the numerous small islands on the lake. A jovial and somewhat inebriated bowman informed us that there were no fish in the lake, at least as far as he could tell, while the captain in the stern lifted the prop creating that guttural growl props make when taken from their usual environment. We pushed on around the corner, the wind at our backs, gliding along in the joy that rises as you begin to realize you are leaving it all behind while the pines and firs and cedars luff around you like sails, the wavelets lapping against the hull.

As we paddled through the sheltered water behind the island that marks the transition from the south western arm of the lake, to the main body of the lake we could see that it was blowing north to south down the lake, creating a moderate chop. We paused in the shelter of a promontory and then headed into the wind. By sticking close to shore, we avoided the hard work of paddling directly into a wind and soon were nosing our way into a sheltered bay with a sandy beach. We went ashore and explored a pleasant campsite with a kitchen station created from a tree root mass.

It was a nice spot, but we were keen to check out some other sites so we headed north again, then spied the island we suspected contained the Sterling Island Rec Site and headed for it.

We approached from the North, running with the wind, and navigated easily around the small island to a lovely quiet spot on the South eastern shore. There we beached the canoes and had a look around.

I have to confess that the site has a magic about it. Like passengers from the fated Minnow, we knew at once that this was the place we would be spending the night. The campsite itself is located on a relatively flat area in the centre of the island surrounded by trees and salal bushes with an impressive fire pit constructed with some skill from large angular stones. An L-shaped bench on one side of the fire pit is constructed of a weathered cedar log and an equally weathered plank. We immediately hauled our canoes to high ground, set up our tent, and strung a tarp between trees on the north side of the site against the brisk north wind. I was worried that we might regret the choice of the Northern most island directly in the teeth of the gale, so to speak, but behind our tarp we were comfortable enough and the wind certainly kept the bugs away.

We found our container of fire wood (I always like to bring my own when I don’t know how much is available on site) and assembled our Portable Buck Saw and found a large pine limb that had fallen, we surmised, in the recent heavy spring snow and proceeded to buck it up. I also found one weather worn piece of cedar on the beach which we set aside for the evening fire.

In the interest of keeping the carbon release low I broke out our Little Bug stove and soon had a roaring little fire which quickly mellowed into the sort of flame that begs for hot dogs. It just so happened that we had such culinary delights along and set to the task of roasting them.

Before long the sun was setting and we shook out the coals from the Little Bug stove and mounded the wet pine and weathered cedar so that we could enjoy the crackle (and hiss) of a full blow fire. Nothing, and I say this without hyperbole, creates a more receptive and peaceful mind than the gentle act of fire gazing after a relaxing day of paddling. The silence expanded as the wind died down and the embers dropped into a dry hush, such a soothing experience that language seemed too rude to bring to voice. These shared moments of contemplation are silken raiment’s on a day of rest. We left the dying coals and went to the beach to stare up at the stars. We stood, blinking at the universe before heading back to camp and our bed rolls.

The morning broke cold and calm. Canada Geese surrounded the island and seemed to be engaged in some sort of territorial dispute that required goosy conversation at full volume.

After watching the sun rise I started a fire in the Little Bug Stove and soon had water boiling in the Kelly Kettle. My son took charge of the frying pan and the smell and sizzle of sausages filled the camp. Combined with steaming scrambled eggs and store bought cinnamon buns it made a mouth watering meal. As is often the case in the outdoors, the food was tastier by far than the same meal would have been prepared at home.

After breakfast we dismantled camp, loaded the canoes and headed out. I tried fishing and we cruised the lake, now beautifully calm, admiring the rocky shoreline and thick second growth forest, and enjoyed the sensation of gliding over a sunken world.

We made our way to the Mr. Canoehead Rec Site and found it silent and spacious under a full canopy.

We wandered up the short portage to Surprise Lake, saw fish rising, and headed back to Amor Lake to fetch one of the canoes. We then spent a happy two hours fly fishing, both of us reeling in firm cutthroat trout from the crystal clear water.

While my son was on the water in the canoe I made my way along the shore casting from the logs and releasing the trout I caught. When it was time to head back I went into the forest thinking it would be shorter than battling the bushes at the lake edge. I immediately surprised a Ruffed Grouse who I had heard drumming earlier. As is the nature of these curious animals, this male did not take flight but simply walked around behind a tree. I walked around the same tree and he walked around another, the erect feathers on the top of his head arching forward and back. When I followed him around his second tree he fanned out his large tail and gave me a shock of beauty I hadn’t had for awhile. “Ok,” I said to him aloud, “If you are going to play the I’m-too-gorgeous-to-eat card, I guess I will have to leave you alone,” and I ventured past, while he sidled casually behind another tree like a gentleman exhibiting a ballroom courtesy.

Back at Amor we pushed off and made our way over more sunken mysteries (lilly pad roots? Waterlogged docks? Is that a train tressel?) and all too soon we were pulling our canoes out of the water surrounded by a new collection of campers. We chatted with some folks who had been coming to Amor Lake for years and wished them luck as they headed onto the water, willow leaf lures flashing from their rods.

Summation: Amor Lake is a moderately sized lake that epitomizes the paddling pleasure of the Sayward Forest area. Multiple small islands and coves provide that, “I wonder what’s around the next bend” feeling and multiple arms (5) allow for many optional destinations. We only explored the southern reaches of the lake, not even half its area, and I think it is reasonable to say that you could spend three happy days on the lake exploring its various coves and islands. We counted 4 obvious campsites not counting the 8 or more sites located beside the boat launch. The map indicates that there are two more campsites on the eastern arm of the lake and I suspect there are others on the two northerly arms as well. Regarding fishing, there were three small power boats and a row boat at the boat ramp when we arrived and in past visits I have observed numerous power boats. The folks we talked to had trolling gear and Vancouverisland.com lists the following resident species: Cutthroat Trout, Dolly Varden Char, Kokanee Salmon, but Amor Lake is not scheduled to be stocked by the Freshwater Fisheries Society in 2008 and does not appear to have been stocked in recent years. So I would not expect good fishing from such a heavily fished body of water that is not stocked.

Recommendations: Wind does seem to be a common complaint made by folks who have paddled the lake as part of the Sayward canoe route and I know that nearby Brewster Lake routinely produces whitecaps on summer days from noon to dusk, so if you are interested in paddling Amor consult your weather forcast and pick a calm day or alternatively plan to paddle during the morning or evening hours. Even during the mid-day bluster if you keep near the shore you will have lots of opportunities to duck behind rocks and logs, and into bays and coves for respite from the wind. None of the sites we looked at had outhouses so bring a shovel or trowel and use common sense when burying your business. The Sterling Island Rec Site has a makeshift toilet (an upturned bucket with the bottom cut out) and while this arrangement is functional, I wonder about its long term viability. If you are of the enlightened and forward thinking tribe who pack out even your pooh, well, I salute you. I don’t think the pressure is currently strong enough to warrant this level of diligence at Amor Lake, but once people find what a treasure this area is, it might need to be practiced before long by all of us. For a handy reference to this subject see: Pooping Perfectly in the Woods By Kevin Callan

For more photos (and larger versions of the ones pictured here) go to: http://rrpowell.homestead.com/files/amorlake/index.html

©Richard R. Powell

Whymper Lake

2008-04-20T20:40:00.001-07:00

Vancouver Island Mapbook - Map 39 G7
Atlas of Canada Link: Whymper Lake
Latitude and Longitude: 50o 2' 59" N - 125o 35' 59" W

Trip Date: April 18, 2008

It’s funny where you end up sometimes. I headed first to Snakehead Lake but found the lake whipped up by a strong wind from the North, so I headed to Camp Lake, but loggers and equipment were everywhere and the crew boss was not happy with me “bombing along” his road, so I left and headed back to the Sayward Forest again. My son and I paddled there the week before and on our way past Whymper Lake I said to him, “that looks nice.” So I went to Whymper.

I think it is fairly safe to say that almost no one goes to Whymper Lake on purpose. Paddlers on the Sayward Forest Canoe Route must pass through the lake, but it would take a determined small water paddler like me to find this little jewel with so many larger gems near by. There is no boat launch ramp, no trail to the lake edge, only the portage trail which is all but unseen from the roadside.

I decided to see if there was a way to enter the creek above the lake so that I could paddle down the bushy corridor leading to the lake. I found an overgrown road leading to a crumbling old bridge but the alders were completely covering the road and I was only able to pull the Tracker off the main road enough to unload. A short bushwhack to the creek edge and I was away.

The lake is essentially a swelling of the creek and I could always feel the tug of the current on the hull, even in the largest flat part of the lake. The wind was gusty, but such a small body of water does not allow any kind of real chop to develop and I found that if I cruised near the shore, the wind hardly bothered me.

I paddled around for about two hours looking at the new bulrush leaves poking out of the mud, watching migrating water fowl pass overhead, and examining a profuse amount of what I later identified as Sweet Gale, or Myrica gale. The waxy catkins of this aromatic wetland shrub appear before the leaves and these catkins were just cracking open in the spring sunshine. The golden hue of them lit the grey boarders of the lake with a gentle glow.
Sweet Gale is reported to be on the badge of the Campbell clan, and having found this shrub in great abundance this close to Campbell River seemed apropos.

According to Mrs. M Grieve, “The leaves (of Sweet Gale) are often dried to perfume linen, etc., their odour being very fragrant, but the taste bitter and astringent. The branches have been used as a substitute for hops in Yorkshire and put into a beer called there 'Gale Beer.' It is extremely good to allay thirst. The catkins, or cones, boiled in water, give a scum beeswax, which is utilized to make candles. The bark is used to tan calfskins; if gathered in autumn, it will dye wool a good yellow colour and is used for this purpose both in Sweden and Wales. The Swedes use it in strong decoction to kill insects, vermin and to cure the itch. The dried berries are put into broth and used as spice. In China, the leaves are infused like tea, and used as a stomachic and cordial.”Gotta love a shrub that can do all that.

I look forward to visiting this area again after the plants leave out. I noticed Caddisfly larvae moving on the muddy bottom and would expect this to be a productive section of stream for the fly angler even though my dry fly arrangement did not produce any takers and I had left my wet fly reel in the vehicle.

If you decide to seek out this lake be aware that the shoreline is composed of fragile bog plants. I recommend doing as I did and enter the lake via the stream where the creek edge is less vulnerable to human impact.

For more photos go to: http://www.flickr.com/photos/stillinthestream/
and click on the 100 Lake Project link.

©Richard R. Powell

Review of the Wenonah Solo Plus on Somenos Lake

2008-04-06T22:14:00.000-07:00

Vancouver Island Mapbook - Map 11 A3
Atlas of Canada Link: Somenos Lake
Latitude and Longitude: 48o 48' 0" North 123o 42' 0" West

Trip Date: April 4, 2008

After purchasing our new Wenonah Solo+ canoe from Ocean River Sports in Victoria my son and I stop at Somenos Lake in Duncan to try it out.

The Boat Ramp off of Drinkwater Road.

Our Solo+ is an ultra-light composite lay-up with gel coat, web seats, and aluminium gunwales. Wenonah’s ultra-light lay-up involves a vacuum cured Kevlar hull with foam core reinforcing. Total package weighs in around 45 lbs. This review is based on comparing it to my old flat bottomed fibreglass tandem scout canoe, my graphite/Kevlar Spitfire, and my paddling experiences with single and tandem kayaks.

On First Sight: I was pleased with the overall look of the boat; the gel coat was uniform, the finish inside was even and the boat felt solid and tight when picked up – no fabric flexing or oil canning. There is a slight amount of rippling below the gunwales where the Kevlar is thinnest. The hull shape is not as uniform as my Spitfire. It definitely has the look of a factory made boat, but clean and well put together.

First paddle: We took the canoe out first as a tandem and I was immediately impressed with the tracking, stability, and movement through the water. There was very little bow wake until we really pushed it, and the progress along the marsh area we explored was quiet. It was the sort of situation in which you appreciate the boat’s smooth long glide. The tracking has to be the most significant performance feature compared with my other canoes. It felt similar to the tandem Kayak I have paddled in often, going steady and straight with minimal effort required to keep it on track. I was able to take a number of photographs while my son paddled in the bow. He made some corrections and kept the boat on course. The seats were still comfortable after two hours on the water.

Somenos Lake is bordered by a large marsh and Garry Oak meadows and we were bombarded by swallows as we made our way beside various woody marsh plants beginning to show green buds. Cat tail shoots were visible amid the brown remains of last year’s growth, but the oaks were still fast asleep and the aquatic plants were brown and lifeless. Red wing blackbirds were calling all through the bushes, however, and Mallards, Herons, Cormorants, and Canada Geese were all around us.

We paddled down Somenos creek past two beaver lodges but saw no sign of dams. A marsh wren was busy in the debris of the creek and we were able to get right up to her before she darted into the bushes. We could see a Gary Oak meadows on the left and I imagine it would be spectacular in May when the meadow flowers bloom.
Fishing: About half way through the paddle we took out our fly rods just as the wind picked up. We found casting easy and comfortable from the boat. We did not stand up, but from the sitting position the boat was hardly affected by the jerks as we pulled our lines off the water.

As we fished we moved along in the wind, but compared to my old scout boat, the amount of drift was much less. In the scout canoe we would have drifted halfway down the lake. The solo+, with its narrow waist and low profile just does not catch the wind like a traditional design.
Solo: We then tried the boat solo. My son liked how quickly he was able to get up to speed and I liked the fact that I could get out of my seat and adjust the foot brace without capsizing. My Spitfire is much more responsive but has much less primary stability. The Solo+ provides a very stable platform and I relaxed as I put it through its paces.
Turning is an issue. Compared to my 12 foot Spitfire it is much more difficult to pivot or turn sharply and I personally would not be keen to take this boat down a river with sharp bends and rapids. Class 1 straight runs maybe, but for a non-adventurous paddler like me, it would be less than ideal. When the weather is warmer and I feel comfortable falling in the water I will experiment with more dramatic leans and pries.
The solo paddling station is certainly the widest I have been in, with the possible exception of Native Watercrafts Ultimate 12. I felt that I wanted to scoot over to the gunwales to get my arms over the paddle when using a single stick, and the 240cm double felt suddenly short, forcing me to increase the angle of the blade. I will experiment with positions and strokes to see what is most comfortable.

The Solo+ appears to achieve its good solo feel by employing a deep tumblehome at a point in the hull where there is little freeboard. The overall effect is to put you close to the water in the centre of the canoe. Because of this design feature the solo seat ends up being close to the bottom of the hull. I didn’t try kneeling, but with the seat tipped on an angle it would be a challenge to get your feet comfortably under the seat.
Conclusion regarding the Solo+: I purchased this boat as a second/guest boat so I can invite family and friends to join me on the water and was attracted by the multi-use capacity and the combination of manageable weight and stable design. Overall there were no surprises with the boat and I am happy with the paddling experience.

Pros: Stable, multiple-use, good glide and tracking.

Cons: Minimal rocker and sharp entry lines impede quick turning, and the overall length widens the solo station – long solo trips may be harder on the arms than a more narrow dedicated solo boat.
General Impression of Somenos Lake: I chatted with two Duncan residents while we loaded the Solo+ back onto the Tracker and both seemed to have come to the lake to simply look at it in the evening light. It was a beautiful end to the day and both men talked of fishing and reported that the lake is stocked with catchable Fraser-strain trout. One of the fellows told us about two Bass holes he knew of on the lake and I appreciated the friendly advice.

Earlier, as we headed onto the lake, three car loads of young people had arrived - music blaring - and I guess a lake in the middle of a town is bound to have high use. The sheer proliferation of birds near the marsh was staggering, however, and I marvelled at this diversity so close to human activity, literally within a half a kilometre of the Island Highway. We will definitely be back to enjoy the lake and marsh when the spring growth is at its height and the meadow flowers are out.

Roberts Lake

2008-02-26T23:26:00.000-08:00

Vancouver Island Backroad Mapbook - Map 40 A2

Atlas of Canada Link: Roberts Lake

Google Earth: Type in “Roberts Lake BC” and it will take you right to the lake. There is a Google Earth user photo already on the lake.

Latitude: 50°12'58.15"N
Longitude: 125°32'40.69"W

Trip Date: February 24, 2008

I leave the house at 9:30, the sun is stark in a cloudless winter sky. From the parkway above Malaspina University-College I glimpse open ocean all the way to a fogbank against the mainland. Those poor citizens of Vancouver are shrouded in mist. No sun for them, at least not for several hours. It always feels good to be heading out paddling in sunshine, but somehow doubly good when it is a fortuitous event. The random fate of weather, allowing me to seize the day, while others ponder the ceiling of grey.

Part of the pleasure is knowing that no one is thinking about me, I am a self contained expedition, master of my own destiny. Not expected back till after dark, the whole day spread before me. Solo trips are luxurious, truly incomparably deluxe. A Westfalia van passes me, a couple in their thirties with outdoor jackets and hats. I imagine they are heading for the great outdoors too and speculate on their destination. The woman sees me watching them and I smile dumbly at them, a goof with a canoe in February.

My destination is Hell Diver Lake. Last night I looked up elevations on several lakes. Hell Diver is at 132 meters. Nanaimo’s own Westwood Lake is higher than that at 164 meters with no ice, so I think the water will be open at Hell Diver, but when I get there an hour and a half later, it is frozen over.

A small lake below Hell Diver, but just as frozen over...

Hell Diver is a small shallow lake south of Campbell River, so I can see why it might be frozen. I head further North to Quinsam Lake, which is a large deeper lake so perhaps not frozen. But it is at a higher elevation. It’s a gamble, but I head for it anyway. On the Gilson Main I run into snow. In the dip by Gilson Lake I feel the Tracker fishtail through the ruts of previous vehicles. On the hill between Gilson and Quinsam I reconsider. I can see Gilson Lake frozen below me on the right. The ruts in the snow are deep, throwing me around, wheels spin, the load behind the back seat shifts back and forth, paddles knocking together. I look for a turn around. I’ve wasted hours finding Hell Diver and now trying to reach Quinsam. I wonder where the Westfalia folks are and hope they are having better luck. I turn the Tracker around and head back down out of the snow, trying to think where else I can try.

On Gilson Main above Gilson Lake

Larry Bowers of West Coast Canoe Company had given me a tip that Roberts Lake was a nice paddle, close to the highway north of Campbell River. I know that another lake near Roberts, Twin Lake, is at 247 meters but I had not looked up Roberts, so I’m left to speculate. I drive into Campbell River and stop to eat a Big Mac and ponder my options. It is 2:00, the sun is past its zenith, but Roberts is a deep lake, I reason, and my curiosity gets the better of me.

On the way past Menzies Bay I catch up to a transport truck, he slows down slightly as we pass a section of planted alders, the sunlight streaming through them across the road. Flash, flash, flash all down the long straight stretch of highway. When we are past the alders the truck speeds up again, the grey trunks and tawny sunshine lingering in my after image, such beauty from such dormant elements.

I watch the snow grow deeper in the ditches all the way up the long hill past the Menzies Lookout, past the turn off to Twin Lake. I am very doubtful that Roberts will be clear of ice. But then the road crests and begins dropping and shortly I see the Roberts Lake Resort sign, and glimpse the lake through the trees. I stop at the rest stop to get my bearings and see that there is a road running along below the highway, right beside the lake. I hop back in the Tracker and find the turn off almost immediately near the northwest corner of the lake.

Roberts Lake Looking North

The water is as still as I have ever seen a lake be. There is literally not the slightest breeze. In the bay there is a small amount of floating clear ice but I take down the canoe and head out onto the water craning my neck to see the snow covered mountains to the east and north. I paddle out across the lake towards the farthest north-eastern corner where a creek drains Cecil Lake. I want to see if it is possible to paddle or portage up the creek to Cecil Lake. Along the northern shore I cruise carefully looking at large rocks just under the surface. Some have black tops, with dead algae below. I deduce that they stand above water part of the year, the algae line indicating the usual water level. The lake is full but the water is clear and still, I can see the rocky bottom as it curves steeply over a sharp underwater drop into darkness.

In the bay near the creek a wooden structure stands on a point, bones of a summer camp. Buoys float without moving in the lake. I imagine that in the summer boats, power boats even, dot this shore, oil spilling across the pristine surface. I listen for voices, laughter, splashing children, but it is quiet as velvet, only the small whisper of the creek running out across gravel.

The sound of the hull contacting with the gravel rouses me and I clamber out to stretch my legs. I spend some time examining stones along the shore. The gravel is uniform in size but sharp edged. This is a young place, the stones have not been smoothed overly, they are recently cracked apart, but the uniformity is pleasing.

Back in the canoe I paddle down the eastern shore, past another long dock and along a small island. Then, in the distance a large boulder on the shore catches my eye and I paddle towards it. Someone has constructed a very precarious looking diving board on top of it. I look into the water below it and can not see a bottom. I look at the shore to discern a camp or building. There is no obvious clearing.

I paddle around the point and towards the second inflow. There is another point, then a sandy bay, then a cluster of shrubs with red branches. As I paddle closer I see that the branches are a variety of shades from orange to pink to red. These bushes are worth the whole trip. I rest my paddle and stare at them, the canoe gliding silently, the sun angling towards the horizon.

Roberts Lake on a sunny February day consumes my visual field. Dark grey almost black rocks roughly cut but slightly smoothed, bleached logs, rippled sand, dormant vegetation armoured in color, the sun drawing out all pigment, exposing subtle variations in texture and pattern.

My muscles warm as I paddle back across the lake to the vehicle, the sun winking out behind the hill. Like an unexpected jewel on a grey stony shore, this unexpected winter beauty has been mine all day, and if feels as if no one else knows about it. A gem sitting in plain view along highway 19. It would be a nice place to set up a Westfalia.

More pictures of Robert Lake are located on my Flickr pages at: http://www.flickr.com/photos/stillinthestream

Text and photos © Richard R. Powell

Book Review

2008-02-10T23:58:00.000-08:00

Canoeing the Adirondacks with Nessmuk: The Adirondack Letters of George Washington Sears, edited by Dan Brenan with Revisions by Robert L. Lyon and Hallie E. Bond.

This slim collection of letters originally published in Field and Stream magazine is a record of canoe trips taken over several years by the plucky old woodsman George Washington Sears. Each year he used a different feather-light canoe made of thin strips of wood, mostly cedar, which were believed by their maker, J. Henry Rushton, to be so insubstantial as to afford little or no room for mishap on Sear’s long journeys. Sears himself, despite his obvious pride in the delicate crafts, and despite his great pleasure in showing them off to anyone and everyone who was interested, never the less referred to them quite often as ‘egg shells’. The journey’s consisted of paddling and portaging hundreds of miles, mostly by himself, from lake to lake in the Adirondack wilderness, an area that is now a state park but that at the time was a booming recreation destination for hunters, fishermen, and sufferers of consumption.

The letters range from a very entertaining description of a “typical” guided tour of the lakes, to straight forward descriptions of the landscape, to complaints about the hardships of wilderness travel, and to Sear’s own feelings on land management. After 120 years the letters still read remarkably well. The simple prose reveals a voice old in experience and timeless in convivial honesty. It is not difficult to imagine yourself paddling alongside the slight, almost fragile, elder as he idles away his time fishing and exploring lake after lake.

Some things are lacking in his reports, noticeable details omitted because of his own personal assumptions about what his readers should already know, and there is a lack of some of the conventions we now take for granted in travelogues. For instance while Nessmuk (Sear’s pen name) visited numerous lodges, hotels, and rustic guide camps, he refers to almost all of them simple as ‘camps’, giving only scant descriptions and no details about their operations. We don’t hear, for instance, a word about the beds, bathrooms, manner of lighting, or significant architectural details. We don’t hear about the customs, atmosphere, or clothing styles of the time, and we certainly don’t find out anything at all about the quality of construction in the buildings, the plumbing, or if the structures had stone foundations, or outbuildings. There are not even any indications of whether the camps are cleared, have grounds, or are still rustically situated in raw forest. The included pictures fill in some of these details, but Sears himself gives nary a jot to the subject. We do hear as much as anyone could care to hear about all the trout and venison that were consumed, and we do get a good glimpse of the make up of the meals (Nessmuk confesses his culinary prowess and a well laid table is obviously of some interest to him), and we do get colourful portraits of particular guides and camp operators. On the other hand we get almost nothing about the shadowy tourists who are reported to be so numerous at the camps as to make Mary and Joseph sleep out under their canoe.

It is fun to join Nessmuk in secret forays to lakes and ponds, “not on any map” and I reflected about my own 100 lakes project and how detailed and numerous are the options for locating water of interest. The freely accessible online Atlas of Canada, for example, gives me so much information on my chosen landscape that there literally are no ponds and lakes off the map. I imagine Nessmuk’s eyes would bug out at the detail available from this and similar resources.
I’m glad I read Nessmuk, his values of environmental preservation, his matter of fact statements on the absolute necessity of idleness to good health, and his folksy evaluation of guides and their customers felt comfortably candid. He distains dullards, braggarts, and pothunters but sings the praise’s of trustworthy guides who practice courtesy and truthfulness. In so doing I felt reassured about the kind of folks who populate the wilds, felt there was hope yet if such good eggs could hold sway still.

Nessmuk’s pride in ‘going light’ and in the merits of his diminutive canoes is endearing. His fondness for his Spartan camp list and fragile craft is balanced nicely with his recommendations; well really his insistence, on comfort. Comfort and an uncomplicated schedule are to be sought only in as far as they do not violate enjoyment of remote locations to idle and fish. This balance strikes me as being rather noteworthy and hints at why the man is held up as an example to follow. His illness, and his resoluteness to soldier on in spite of his illness, makes him roundly human. I like this frankness and find it believable, partly because he is also willing to quit when his illness is too severe. This is a frail, courageous, passionate man engaged in a pursuit he loves. The qualities that I like most in him are his honesty, determination, and preference for and acceptance of people of good character. He likes the good guys, tells us why they are good, and in so doing encourages us to live in a similar manner. His enthusiasm for nature in infectious, and I could not get out of my head the idea that some day I would meet him or go on a trip with him. Of course he is long gone and only his written words carry on. Still, I know that as I paddle past a spot I think he would have liked I will smile and imagine he is with me to enjoy it, this small man in one of his tiny canoes, a true companion in the ways that matter.

Here are a few choice quotes from the book:

“just under my eyes as I write, there is an island in the river some twelve rods long by six wide. It is well timbered with spruce, balsam, hemlock, cedar, pine, birch and maple. It is one of the pleasant spots that nature makes and man neglects.” – Pg. 36, 37

“Now, I like to cook, can do it well, and I wanted a quiet place to lay off, paddle, fish, float and possess my soul in peace.” – Pg. 56

“Yes. Let us leave the hot pavements, the baking, blistering walls and sweltering sleep, or sleepless, rooms. Let us, i’ God’s name, take to the cool waters and calm shades of the forest.” – Pg. 69

“if you have an eye for nature, the time will not be lost.” – Pg. 116

“I dressed and walked down to the landing, where I made a fire against the rock used as a washing station by the House of Sabattis, lighted a pipe and resumed my favourite exercise of sitting on a log.” – Pg. 122

“We, the “outers,” who go to the blessed woods for rest and recreation, are prone to handicap our pleasures in the matter of overweight; guns, rods, duffle, boats, etc. We take a deal of stuff to the woods, only to wish we had left it at home, and end our trips by leaving dead loads of impedimenta in deserted camps. I should be glad to see this amended. I hope at no distant day to meet independent canoeists, with canoes weighing twenty pounds or less, at every turn in the wilderness, and with no more duffle than is absolutely necessary.” - Pg. 138

Sarita Lake

2008-01-18T00:31:00.000-08:00

Vancouver Island Backroad Mapbook - Maps 7 and 8

Atlas of Canada Link: Sarita Lake

Google Earth: Type in Sarita and zoom out a bit, the lake is East of Sarita
Latitude: 48°54'18.85"N
Longitude: 124°53'17.03"W

Trip Date: January 16, 2008

After morning errands I loaded up the Tracker and left Nanaimo at 10:35 heading for lakes located along the road to Bamfield. At the Summit of #4 Highway between Cameron Lake and Port Alberni I took the connector road over to the Cameron River Main, down past Bainbridge Lake and on to the Bamfield Road. I arrived at Lizard Pond at 1:20. Finding both Lizard Pond and Hawthorn Lake frozen over, I returned to Bamfield Road and continued on the Sarita Lake, arriving at 2:25.

The bridge right before the lake that spans a tributary of Sarita River gave a glimpse of a very large log jam, cleaved in the middle by the creek. Just past the bridge on a muddy landing was a drilling machine of the sort used to drill into rock during road building. “hmmm...” I wondered, “did they dynamite the log jam?”

The Atlas of Canada map indicates a campground on the southern shore near the Eastern end of the lake, and the Backroad Mapbook placed the campsite further down the lake, so I watched intently for a road access. Recent grader work was evident creating a large furl of rock and gravel at the road edge, but I spied no turn off until reaching a road further down the lake, which I turned into. This turn off revealed the campsite nestled under deciduous trees, right where the Backroad Mapbook said it would be. It is a pleasant forestry style campsite with direct access to the lake via a gentle grassy boat ramp. The campground and boat ramp seemed oddly cluttered with logs and woody debris. I unloaded the canoe and headed out onto the water, my attention drawn immediately to a large white bird gliding along the far shore. A determined but stealthy paddle towards the bird nevertheless scared it into flight. I took several photographs of it winging its way to the far end of the lake, but it was too far away to make out the exact species. It was probably a Trumpeter Swan. Turning east I paddled towards the inflow of the Sarita River and was completely dumbstruck by the view. I had been so focused on the Swan, I had not fully appreciated it. White barked trees of the type at the campground, probably alders, were showing a red haze about their branch tips, the tightly bound buds waiting for spring. Sunlight, breaking through the cloud cover, striped the hillside behind.

As I approached the southern shoreline again, I noted a number of large logs and tree stumps clustered together in an odd tangled mess. Spanning between two of these stumps were other pieces of driftwood. Could it be that the forest company had, in fact, blasted the log jam causing a wave of water to wash these specimens into the lake? If that was the case, the water level must have risen to depth 10 or 12 feet above the level I was resting on?
Pondering other possible explanations I rounded the next small point of land and drifted past a flock of Golden Crowned Kinglets peeping to each other in the underbrush. A Junco and Winter Wren were also gleaning the shoreline logs and their activity drew my attention to a graceful piece of driftwood.

Rounding the next promontory where I had initially expected the campsite to be I startled into flight two black and white ducks, probably Ringnecks, from an area of shore where a creek had recently deposited large amounts of sand and gravel, arranged on the lake bottom like a multicoloured fan. The water turbidity was moderate, though the river had seemed relatively clear when I had crossed it.

After paddling around the eastern side of the lake I headed back toward the put in, sun descending behind snowy mountains. A mist was forming as I took the canoe out of the water and the temperature was dropping steadily. My thumbs were feeling it, even through my titanium lined neoprene gloves. As with all paddles during the winter months, the limited daylight hours, and temperature mean the paddling time always seems a little too rushed. Nevertheless, I was pleases to have paddled the lake on such a calm and tranquil day.

Summation: Sarita Lake has a nice shoreline with moderately interesting hillsides surrounding the lake on all sides. The most striking aspect of the lake is the long line of Alders (?) on the Eastern shore by the inlet from Sarita River. This panorama is breathtaking. I would like to see it both in its spring raiment and summer greenery. I expect that the lake is used heavily in the summer, being so close to a main road and less than two hours drive from Port Alberni. It may, however, be overlooked by many who are heading to and from the West Coast Trail, providing for them only a brief visual break from the miles of forest and clear cuts. I will not make Sarita Lake a destination lake during the warmer months, but if I should happen to be in the neighbourhood, I will definitely swing by to check it out again.

Recommendation: If you plan to visit Sarita Lake in the winter months, be prepared for cold water and possible changes in water level. The roads this winter are heavily used by forest vehicles and graders will most likly be working, I passed one on the trip. I also passed two loaded logging trucks, and another with its trailer piggybacked, and numerous of the ubiquitous white forest company chevy pickups. Also two cars. Tracks in the snow indicated that at least two vehicles had visited Lizard Pond, the snow being over a foot deep in places. This is a high use area because of the active logging.

Cowichan Valley Lakes

2008-01-14T00:52:00.000-08:00

Vancouver Island Backroad Mapbook - Maps 9 and 10

Google Earth: Type in Cowichan Lake and zoom out a bit
Mayo Lake Latitude: 48°48'8.89"N by longitude: 123°57'15.06"W
Beaver Lake Latitude: 48°48'45.75"N by longitude: 124° 4'45.54"W
Mesachie Lake Latitude: 48°48'42.39"N by longitude: 124° 6'32.37"W
Bear Lake Latitude: 48°48'52.75"N by longitude: 124° 7'41.78"W
Kissinger Lake Latitude: 48°55'6.90"N by longitude: 124°28'46.76"W

Trip Date: December 12, 2007

After a late breakfast I headed south from Nanaimo to the Cowichan Valley to scout out six different bodies of water for paddling.

The first stop was Mayo Lake located on map 10 at D3. Reports indicated that it was a beautiful little lake suitable for paddling and I found the lake on Mayo Road just off of Old Cowichan Lake Road. The lake was partially iced over and smaller than I expected. The western section of the lake which appears on the map to be open water is now filled with vegetation. Great place to sit and eat your lunch, but not large enough to paddle, even for me.

From Mayo Lake I drove up the Old Cowichan Lake Road, through Cowinchan Lake municipality, observing the towns lovely waterfront, and on to the Beaver Lake turn off. The only access road to this lake takes you to a private campground with signs indicating access for guests only.

I continued on to Mesachie Lake (Map 9 A3), which is a pretty little lake right beside the South Shore Road.

The lake is dominated by Camp Imadene which occupies a peninsula on the south shore. It would be possible to drop a featherlight canoe into the lake from the South Shore Road, but not comfortably, there is a fairly steep bank from the road down to the lake.

I continued past Camp Imadene and turned right down the Mesachie Lake village’s main street, looking for an alternative access to the lake. There did not seem to be one. I crossed a small bridge that spans the creek that runs between Mesachie and Bear lakes, and looked at the creek carefully. It may be possible to paddle between Bear and Mesachie Lake along this water way.

I then turned around, and drove to the public beach and boat ramp on Bear Lake. Several empty boat trailers suggested that boaters were on the lake, but I could not see them anywhere.
The picturesque public wharf gives a good view of the entire lake. I later examined the lake on Google Earth and discovered that a wide channel connects Bear to Cowichan Lake, so I suspect the absent boaters were out on Cowichan Lake.

The water of Bear Lake was high and muddy and not inviting, so I decided to continue on along the south side of Cowichan Lake to Kissinger Lake. I had never driven the South Shore Road before so took my time, consulting the map at several intersections. The road turns to gravel just past Honey Moon Bay but it is an exceptionally good surface and I drove along at 70 km/hour on the good sections. I stopped the vehicle on a height of ground across from Youbou. The lake was calm and the winter afternoon light soft on the distant hamlet.
I made a wrong turn past Nixon Creek and went left (South) up the Caycuse Main. It was a fortuitous error as the valley contains Nixon Creek and was beautiful. Large Broad Leaf Maple trees are covered in moss and I stopped the vehicle near a bend in the creek to examine a large heap of logs recently deposited at a curve in the channel. Sand and stones were mixed in with the wood detritus so the creek must have really been thundering when it deposited these logs. Clearly this valley gets a lot of rain and subsequent run off.

Caycus Main

Nixon Creek

North End of Cowichan Lake

I turned the vehicle around and headed back to the intersection where I made the error and headed on to the end of Cowichan Lake and stopped to take a few photos of the Heather Campsite across the water from the boat launch. Smoke and RVs indicated that people were there.

The map (9 A1) indicates that access to Kissinger Lake is off the Nitinat Main and I inadvertently passed the Nitinat Main and turned left instead at the North Shore Road intersection. The Mapbook has a dashed line where this road continues away from Cowichan Lake, so I didn't immediately realize I was on the wrong road. I guess the old the road has been re-activated.

I drove for some way along this road into an area of active logging, turned right in what I thought was the direction of the lake but ended up on an old road that was paved! This must have been the Nitinat River Road, but why it is paved, I’m not sure.

I backtracked, got my bearings, and found the Kissinger Lake Recreation Area, which had a gate, but the gate was open. A large sign said the gate closes at 8:00 pm, so I drove through the campsites and found the lake.

A group of fellows in their twenties had a fire going in an iron pit on the rocky bank overlooking the lake. I chatted with one fellow who informed me that they had been doing a little fishing, but only caught two small trout which they threw back.

He told me they were leaving, and with good cheer they load their ATVs on three large trucks and roared off leaving me with their dwindling fire.

The lake shore was picturesque, with a little road running right up to the edge of the water and curving in a loop to go back to the campground.

There was a little dock and two small sandy/muddy beaches on either side. Several Alders stood at the lake shore and several more shaded the picnic area on the small hill. The lake’s prominent island was attracting the last rays of light off to the left (see photo).

Red stemmed bushes; willows maybe, lined the shore on the left side, and evergreens on the right.

I took down my canoe, launched, and coasted out onto the glassy surface.

The smoke from the remains of the fire drifted to mingle with a mist rising from the lake surface and I listened to a grader working somewhere in the distance, the changing pitch of the engine and the odd clunkof rock and metal. I could see my breath in the dying light.

A fish broke the surface somewhere beside me and I watched the trees lose color on the shore. By 6:00 it was too dark to see much so I put on my head light and paddled back.

Kissinger Lake is completely ringed by logging roads now, and active logging has left a large raw area to the west of the lake. None of this is visible from the water, however, because the loggers have left a band of trees that give the illusion that all is well.

Back on the road again, I passed two large trucks, burly young men grinning at my little Tracker and canoe.

I imagined what the place would be like in the summer and decided that I probably should not find out. Better to be somewhere a little less utilized at that time of year.

© Richard R. Powell 2008

Why

2008-01-07T23:06:00.000-08:00

(WARNING: This post contains a discussion of Pothunting)

George Washington Sears, pen name Nessmuk, wrote a series of letters to Field and Stream Magazine from 1880 to 1885 about his solo canoe trips through the Adirondacks. The canoes he paddled were small and light because he was an older man with asthma. He went to the woods for his health, believing clean air to be a balm like no other. “Go light,” he advised, “the lighter the better, so that you have the simplest material for health, comfort, and enjoyment.”

I like George, meeting him all these years later though his stories. He was an observant person who loved remote places but did not shun people....well most people. He did shun certain types of people.

“I love a horse, a gun, a dog, a trout and a pretty girl. I hate a pothunter, a trout-liar, and a whisky-guzzling sportsman.” Sears wrote these words and others like them because he saw how men of this sort spoiled the woods, lakes, and rivers.

A pothunter is a hunter who hunts with disregard for rules and conservation and who lacks appreciation for the value of animals apart from their role as objects to kill, possess, or display. A pothunter seeks a prize to show to his friends, a trophy to give him bragging rights. Sears liked to hunt and fish, but not as a means to build his ego, not for show or prestige.

When I first came across references to him, I expected not to like him. I generally don’t like people who start movements. They are driven. Driven people make me nervous. The movement he started (solo canoeing) is sometimes twisted into pothunting of a different sort. I’m talking about outdoor types who show off their survival skills, endurance, courage, and competitive edge in order to impress or awe others.

But Nessmuk isn’t like that. He is a bit the opposite, and while he was not a saint or heroic icon, he comes close to embodying a way of being in the wild that feels right to me. In this he reminds me of my father. Like Nessmuk, my father loved fishing and hunting for their own sake, and cared little what others thought of the sport or his prowess with a gun, bow, or rod. He just liked it and when we went out together it wasn’t overly important if we arrived home empty handed. Dad didn’t brag and while he told stories of “the one that got away,” they were almost always relatively accurate. I knew they were accurate, because most of the time I had been there.

I plan to write about dad, our times together, and the values he passed on to me, but for now, I just want to be clear that what I am after, the reason I am doing this project, is to define one of many alternatives to pothunting. I’m certainly not the first to attempt such an exercise, but I do want to include my voice.

Another reason I am going is to learn to read again.

Karen Armstrong in an interview with Tapestry Producer Mary Hynes describes a time in her life when she was defeated by poor health and life circumstances and turned to the study of the great texts of world religions. Because she was no longer surrounded by noise and activity, all alone in her apartment, she was suddenly able to hear the poetry of the writers, and enter into the realities behind the words.

Much of my reading lately has become speed reading, rushing through one book or another looking for content, for a specific answer, for data, facts, information. I want more than that, I want the meditative absorption that comes from reading a book in the company of great silence.

So I will be reading Nessmuk, and other great nature writers. And I will be reading Taoist texts and maybe some other religious texts, I’m not sure yet. I want to read Ursula Goodenough’s Sacred Depths of Nature because I intuit that Ursula knows something important, something I need to know.

I also want to learn again to read nature, to “notice” it in the great Buddhist sense. This is why I paddle, why I have embarked on this experiment. The Japanese poet Basho spoke of his travels across Japan as a journey into the deep interior of his country. I will be traveling into the deep interior of this island I call my home.

What

2008-01-06T15:13:00.000-08:00

In September of 2007 I purchased a new canoe from Placid Boatworks.

The large fibreglass and wood canoe I inherited from my father, and still own, would not be sufficient for what I wanted.

I needed to be able to carry a canoe, by myself, to and from a variety of small bodies of water; some with minimal or no easy put ins.

After much research I decided that the Spitfire (pictured above) was the best canoe for the task. Light (22 lbs), strong (graphite and Kevlar construction), and maneuverable it is also a beauty to behold.

Here are a few of the reasons I chose the Spitfire:

Placid Boatworks' quality is well known and their response to my inquiries and requests were prompt. They delivered my boat clear across the country with a minimum of hassle and confusion.

No other canoe company that I researched produces a canoe this light with a gel coat and two tone hull - white bottom to hide scratches, tinted transparent clear coat sides for good looks and abrasion resistance.

The canoe is virtually maintenance-free; the seat and gunwales are carbon composites as well as the hull.

The design is attractive, the seat is comfortable, and the performance on the water consistent.

Local retailers and large canoe manufacturers proved to be unwilling or unable to help me find the boat I needed. Retailers were more interested in selling me a kayak and those that did try to help confessed that their suppliers would not be able to get me a boat for months. Placid Boatworks delivered my canoe in under a month.

I plan to purchase a second canoe so that family and friends can accompany me on some trips, and this boat I hope to purchase locally. At the moment I am waiting to try the Wenonah Wilderness canoe which is new for 2008. I also hope to travel to the mainland to try out several of Clipper’s boats.

I am also considering small tandum canoes as an option for my second boat.

My vehicle is a 1999 Geo Tracker outfitted with a Thule rack. This little fuel efficient, no frills, 4x4 has taken me on many miles of back roads and over some truly impressive washouts. What a shame that there is no small 4x4 like this being sold in North America today. How can we satisfactorily enjoy the wilderness with carbon spewing monster SUV’s?

This shot is taken on the road to Lacy Lake.

Where

2008-01-06T14:11:00.000-08:00

Vancouver Island is the biggest island on the west coast of North America. Almost twice the size of Hawaii it has an area of 32,134 sq. Km (12,408 sq. miles).

Over 700 miles of coastline, almost 400 of which face the wide open Pacific Ocean, make Vancouver Island the destination and home of open sea kayakers who love to paddle among whales, see lions, otters, and a myriad of other sea creatures. The prowess, skill, and courage displayed by those who ride the surf and ply the stormy reaches have captured the imaginations of thousands of people. Have a look at the trailer for Pacific Horizons to get some idea of what these daring folks do.

Less adventurous paddlers experience the Pacific Ocean’s beauty and grandeur by exploring its many sheltered coves, island groups, and bays. They gaze on scenic vistas at every turn.

But this 451 kilometres (282 miles) long island also contains many hundreds of lakes, some in the heart of towns and cities, others so remote that virtually no one ever visits them.

Though I am an occasional ocean paddler and love the ocean and all its wonders; my temperament, philosophy, aesthetic values, and my current life situation and interests draw me more to lakes than oceans. I will be unpacking this attraction for small waters as I go along. For now let me say that marshes, ponds, and small lakes and streams, hold subtle attractions for a paddler that are very different from the rolling waves of Vancouver Island’s rugged coast. Not better or more beautiful, but worth experiencing in their own right. This is where I will be - these next two years.

Image of Vancouver Island captured from Google Earth

Where,What, Why

2007-12-30T19:58:00.000-08:00

Welcome to my 2 year quest to visit 100 lakes on Vancouver Island. In a series of initial blog entries I will give brief explanations of where I plan to go, what the project will involve, and why I want to do it. After that I will post a variety of thoughts on solo paddling, camping, nature, etc.

During the two years I will also publish articles relating to my trips and in the end one or two books about my experiences. This blog will serve as a way to update anyone interested in my progress, and allow others to comment on my journey.

I hope you will feel welcome to suggest lakes I should visit, correct any errors you see, and offer your own perceptions through the comment feature or by sending me a private e-mail at quietlake at stillinthestream.com.

Thanks,

Richard