First canoe camping trip?

[Alan Gage]

A recent thread made me wonder about everyone's first canoe camping trip. What was yours?

Mine, ironically enough, was a solo trip with my dog. It was actually my first camping trip period. I must have been 13 years old and my dad dropped me off at a local lake with his old canvas tent from childhood, a cheap sleeping bag, mostly junk food, and a handful of paper match books from the gas station. By the time we got organized and shoved off from the dock the sun was setting.

It was a short (less than a mile) paddle to the island but for me at that age, with next to no experience paddling by myself, it was a foray into the wilderness. We'd only visited the island once and that was during the winter. It was much more inviting during winter because when I approached it in July by canoe I found it blockaded by a thick ring of cattails. I began circling the island and finally found one little inlet that would let me approach shore. The dog and I bailed onto land and were soon struggling to set up the tent in the dark, by flashlight, with bats swooping over our heads. There was also a small heron rookery on the island and they were croaking away.

I never got a fire going that night and next morning when I awoke I found the island overrun by baby toads. When I opened my eyes I could see them silhouetted on the tent. I struggled mightily that morning to start a fire and finally persevered. The dog and I spent the next 1 1/2 days exploring the island, swimming, and fishing from the canoe. We had a great time and repeated that trip at least one more time that summer and a couple times the next.

For whatever reason it wasn't until my late 20's that I went camping again and mid-30's for canoe tripping.

Alan

 

[Mason]

Allagash River, 1977, freshman year of college. My high school buddy and I borrowed my brother's 14' aluminum canoe (and Mohawk paddles) for the 7 day trip. Although I had been in Boy Scouts and gotten the canoeing merit badge, I had never done an canoe overnight before (though lots of camping and backpacking). We were flown into the start (I thought it was Chesuncook, but may have been Chamberlain, looking at the maps 40+ years later), and dropped off, paddling 3' waves head on. I shudder to think what might have happened with following or beam seas--my bowman got lots of chest shots. Young and clueless. The flyin and car shuttle to Allagash cost us all of $150, which I thought was a lot (I complained about paying $15 for a room at the end of the trip, split two ways). I was using a Kelty frame pack--I had to detach the pack from the frame to get it to fit in the canoe--would re-attach it to carry to camp. We had a good time, with no mishaps (I think we shuttled Chase Rapids). The trip got me into photography, using my father's Argus C3 from the 1950s.

As mentioned on an earlier post, I had originally planned to paddle Hudson Bay on a solo trip, but my mother didn't like that idea. So I found a partner and did the Allagash. After paddling to Hudson Bay last year, I'm sure as heck glad that I followed my mother's requests! I don't know where the Hudson Bay idea came from--probably from knowing about the Voyageurs and the HBC--naive romanticism of youth!

 

[Guest]

A recent thread made me wonder about everyone's first canoe camping trip. What was yours?

For whatever reason it wasn't until my late 20's that I went camping again and mid-30's for canoe tripping.

First paddle-in camper was probably age 13-ish. My family car camped all over the east coast, and I day paddled with my father from a young age, including (unforeseen) WW stuff I wouldn’t run today, but we never canoe camped.

We had a cabin on the upper Conowingo pool along the Susquehanna and I knew every nook and cranny of that water from years of fishing it in canoe or Jonboat. Awesome cool area, and at the time not overrun.

At 12 or 13 a boyhood friend and I paddled the family Grumman a half mile out to the coolest spot on the upper lake, an inauspicious crack in a cliff face on the NW end of Big Chestnut island that opens into a paddle-able rock grotto, and camped on a tiny plateau atop the cliff face with amazing views. BSA canvas pup tent, crude sleeping bags (sleeping pad? What’s a sleeping pad?), sandwiches, canned beanie weenies and GI canteens. We felt like Master’s of the Universe.

I returned to paddle camp all of the best spots on the dozens of islands there with friends, and as my first overnight solo. I still visit there occasionally; sadly everything today is overused, overrun and litter trashed.

First downriver trip was the Paw Paw Bends on the Potomac a few years later when I got a driver’s license. Some of the early boat hauling and shuttle strategies that followed were comically inept, and thinking about them makes me queasy today; Grumman or Sea King on a suction cup roof rack on a Beetle, or tied directly to the roof of a rust bucket LeMans. I would give young me a wide berth on the highway today.

First solo river camper into the unknown wasn’t until 1988; Boquillas Canyon in Big Bend. Also first trip in a solo canoe, first paid shuttle, first desert river paddle, first time running out of potable water and first trip thinking I had well and truly screwed the pooch.

Also so delightful that I did more (better planned and executed) solo trips than companion trips until the family came along.

First family paddle in trip was in the mid-90’s, with one still in diapers at night. Paddle in site on Allegany Reservoir with a wide shallow beach in front of camp. Watching the boys happily splash about in the shallows I distinctly remember the clarion thought “dang, we can do this, with ease and comfort”.

We didn’t stop, and became an increasingly efficient and effective foursome.

 

[alsg]

What a coincidence, Mike! My first overnight was on the Paw Paw Bends on the Potomac. I remember it like it was yesterday. Of course, it was only 2 years ago.

 

[Black_Fly]

Mine was also with a dog, my border collie Suki. I was 16 or 17 when we drove from Cincinnati to Everglades City in my VW Beetle, 13 ft glass tandem strapped on the roof without a rack, and paddled into the glades. I had an old army surplus shelter half and literally (yes, I used it figuratively) got eaten alive by mosquitos. Stayed a night, paddled back to the VW and headed back up the east coast of the state and back home. Never went camping again in Florida. While I was stationed there in the service, I always managed to have dispensary duty when the unit went to the field.

I did sleep on several beaches all over that state but that is a different thread, and not a PG rated one.

 

[Gamma1214]

I was 11 or 12. Our local Boy Scout troop took a yearly trip down the Loyalhanna River with a couple trailers full of borrowed aluminum Grummans. Lots of wet gear and unceremoniously dragging canoes over rocks, our life jackets were generally on the floor of the canoe instead of where they would actually be useful and, to this day, I am impressed that our Scoutmaster put up with all of us as well as he did.

 

[BWCA66]

Mine was 1966 in the BWCA with my Dad and brother. Square stern canoe, 3hp Evinrude, canvas tent and food in tin cans. Haven't missed a year since, a couple of weeks from now and the BWCA streak will hit 54 years.

 

[recped]

The first overnighter (with my mother) I remember would have been when I was about 6 (1960), I had been "a baby in a canoe" but only day trips. All I really remember was sleeping under the overturned canoe, on a rubberized groundsheet in an old (non-synthetic) sleeping bag. We had a huge piece of netting (army surplus jungle hammock...without the hammock) to keep out the bugs but nothing to prevent getting soaked by the ensuing thunderstorm.

I did a few of these 1 or 2 night trips with my mother and went to a summer camp where we did a 4 night trip a few years later. by 1967 those days were OVER! In 1977 I opened a retail store, went on a 3 night trip just before that, not sure if I realized I would be working 364 days a year for the next ten years.

Restarted paddling in 1986 or 1987 starting with 5 days and gradually moving up to 10 days. In 1999 I met a guy who showed me the "better way", paddle your own canoe!!! I made a concession to that policy later that year by going with my mother (age 84) for a 5 night trip on the Spanish River. Since then with two exceptions it's been all solo boats and in recent years solo trips, getting longer and longer and longer...........

 

[snapper]

Lots of day trips over the years but my first overnight was a 10 day trip with the Boy Scouts in 1969; I was 16. It was my first year working at the Scout camp and I was on one of the waterfronts. One of our leaders in the Adirondack trip program had to take a temporary leave so I got the plum assignment of doing the trip. The council saved money by renting canoes in Old Forge and having them go back and forth between there and Long Lake throughout the summer. The trip I was on traveled from Long Lake back to Old Forge so it was upstream all the way; and against the prevailing winds. To say I was smitten, would be an understatement. It was one of the most memorable experiences of my youth and what led me into becoming an outdoor educator and guide as my chosen profession.

That's all for now. Take care and until next time...be well.

snapper

 

[Pook]

My first canoe camping trip was on my honeymoon in 1991, 14 days into Algonquin backcountry.
I had been camping with family since a kid and done a lot of camping on water- but always in a motor boat. My canoeing experience was poking around and "gunwale bobbing" at the cottage not tripping.
But my bride had attended tripping camps in Algonquin for years as a teenager so I immediately agreed.

In retrospect, canoe tripping is an incredible compatibility test, but probably best taken BEFORE saying "I do". That I loved her and trusted her goes without saying. It was a spectacular start to an ongoing 28 year adventure...

I do remember one portage very fondly: coming up to the Otterslide, we met an "elderly" couple - in reality probably about 60. They had a cedar canvas canoe, canvas canoe packs with tump lines and cherry paddles. I still remember thinking "how can they do this with that equipment at their age?"

Little did I know I was staring at my future!

Bruce

 

[stripperguy]

I had been on countless canoe/camping trips since my earliest memories, but it always was fishing (or hunting) centric with my father and uncles. All day in a canoe is not so much fun for a five year old...I enjoyed the paddling and camping, sometimes under the canoe, but not the fishing. There was a lot of drinking on those trips, and my father was not fun to be around if he had been drinking. I later realized that he had quite a problem with alcohol, but that's another story.
I gradually did less and less paddling/camping/hiking/hunting until I started working at age 14, when I stopped completely. Then a gap until I was 20 and a fellow apprentice asked if I wanted to do a canoe trip.

Sure I did, and we spent 6 days going from Old Forge to Big Tupper. We had a dual burner Coleman stove, canned foods and canvas duffle bags. We paddled my my father's Radisson, which went as fast sideways as it did forward! We had a black bear swim across the river not ten feet in front of us. I absolutely loved it, just being on the water, sleeping in a different spot every night, something new around every corner. It was like an awakening!!
I eventually revisited many of the places I had gone to on those earlier fishing/drinking trips, but with my own friends and the future MDB. And I've been doing so ever since.

 

[Zac]

I think I was 10 or 11 when I first paddled the upper Kettle River near where I grew up in east central Minnesota with my father in the stern. At 13 or 14 I was in the stern with my cousin Joe in the bow and we soon convinced our parents to let us camp out one night, just the two of us. Joe was only a couple months older than I and neither of us had spent a night in a tent without adult supervision and a motor vehicle within spitting distance. Reluctantly, my mother dropped us off at one highway bridge with plans to rendezvous two bridges downstream the following day. Things went surprisingly well and through the next couple of summers we shared a few memorable one-nighters on that stretch of river, eventually extending our trips by a bridge or two. One dry change of clothes each, sleeping bags and tent would be encased in garbage bags (the original dry bag) and tossed haphazardly into the bottom of the canoe with the borrowed cooler that held our food and water. All of the other essentials, consisting of little more than an unneeded compass, a bottle of bug spray, a hatchet, some matches and a few spare Daredevil spoons with steel leaders fit loosely into one of our school book bags. We would set up my uncle's two-man tent on a sandbar, play in the rapids or fish until dark and then have roaring fires into the night roasting hot dogs and s'mores. We arrived at the rendezvous smiling on all but one occasion, which I believe was our last. On all of our previous trips we had each brought secondary and tertiary fire starting implements. Before this trip we must have both taken notice of their overabundance and independently eliminated said articles from our kits to great dismay. This meant cold hot dogs and retiring to the tent early to avoid the mosquitoes. Just wait, it gets better! For breakfast we had bought a flat of cinnamon rolls from a local bakery, the kind that come on a styrofoam tray wrapped in cling wrap. Luckily for us these rolls did not require a fire to enjoy! There would by no enjoyment, however, as I managed to deposit the entire slab of cinnamon rolls onto the sand bar as I was unwrapping them. Sticky side down.

I never gave up though, and here I am. I paddle that same stretch of river at least once each summer but I haven't camped on it since, saving my vacation days for faraway waters instead of the one I grew up on.

 

[scoutergriz]

I don't remember my first! it would have been many decades ago when I was about 4 months old In Algonquin Park. My dad worked summers as a ranger and every year we took a week or more after the summer season ended. My first as an actual paddler would have been Martin river- Pickerel river in the late sixties, and my first solo was on a island in the middle of Rice lake in the seventies. I remember many moose and bear sightings, but my first encounter wasn't until being chased by a cow moose in the 80's when we inadvertently got between her and her calf on the opposite shore, can you say "paddle faster"?

 

[Seeker]

I'm pretty sure it was actually a kayak trip with the Boy Scouts, out of the Sabattis camp on Low's Lake, maybe around 1975. I would have been about 11. I remember marveling at how easy it was to paddle and how shallow the water could be and still float me. I think we carried some of our gear in the kayak, but someone else in a canoe carried our packs. We went out for a couple nights, Frying Pan Island the first night, and either Virgin Timber or Boone's Landing the 2nd night. I do remember one scout who was sampling the dehydrated bread (looked exactly like Saltine crackers, but would expand when it got wet. Excellent for french toast... not so good for a snack.) He was warned, as we all were, to cease and desist... He persisted, and spent the night in misery with a very grossly distended stomach... lesson learned. listen to the scoutmaster.

A year or so later, with another troop, we did a trip down the Delaware on a long weekend.

 

[Odyssey]

My wife and I moved to Quebec to start a family and a new life together. Our years spent living in La Belle Province were wonderful, and a very big wonderful part of that were the friends we made there. My best friend at the time Pierre came from a very different world of politics and culture, language and traditions, but we two shared many of the same ideals and interests, and that was enough to bridge the chasm of family histories and backgrounds. We got to talking one day about canoe tripping, something else we both had dreamed of doing some day but had never yet acted upon the impulse. How do you get started when you have absolutely no experience and no gear whatsoever? He showed me maps of La Verendrye and we both daydream planned. That plan sat on the shelf for a number of years before I had an idea of asking my one brother who had canoe tripped before, maybe he would be willing to "guide" us. I phoned him, and after much leg pulling and a lot of arm twisting he agreed. By this time we were all working and separated by miles of geography, so an October long weekend just barely worked for any of us but it was all we could manage in our busy lives. The "us" portion of the trip grew every bit as much as the plans themselves. My brother had only tripped in Algonquin PP and Pierre was fascinated by that park, so it was decided it would be our inaugural annual canoe trip destination. I supplied my "guide" brother, and he schooled me in what gear to beg, borrow and scrounge for the trip; Pierre had done the same but also brought along the required even number of participant paddlers, two of whom were his brothers Rob and Joe, I don't remember the third friends name. I only remember snatches of memories of that first trip; unseasonably warm days of paddling in shirtsleeves and portaging in sweat, seasonably cold nights with roaring fires and frost on the tarps. A favourite memory involves Rob and what he brought to the canoe party (and every night it was very much a party). He, like his brothers, came from a very traditional background steeped in family history, music and lore. Robert along with a sister were a kind of repository of traditional song for the family. I was told that on occasions tables and chairs would be pulled back to the walls, accordions would be bent and fiddles would be bowed, and each in turn would bust the party open with treasured music. While that family opened their homes to Miranda and I while we lived there we never quite got the timing right to be included into just such a kitchen party. Early on in the canoe trip I asked Robert how many traditional songs he'd learned, and he furrowed his brow and squinted his eyes at the thought. ""Chais-pas". Quatre vingt? Peut être cent? Presque un cent?" His brothers nodded their heads in agreement, eighty to a hundred sounded about right. Thankfully he didn't need too much encouragement to offer up a selection of song to paddle and portage to, and there's nothing like jigging around a sparking fire at midnight to really feel alive, a melodious chanson sung to the starry heavens above. But a four day trip goes by way too fast, especially when you're having as much fun as we'd been enjoying. We repeated the annual long weekend canoe trip several times more, both in Ontario and Quebec, some faces faded away and others took their places, but always we had fun, paddling and portaging by day, dancing and singing around the fire by night. But even fun times get old, and after several years the numbers dwindled till there were just 4 of us, Pierre and myself, and 2 newcomers, not including my young son. None of the trips could ever quite match the first one, so I finally decided to call it quits. In blind afterthought what I really should've done was to commit to the old original idea of a tandem trip, my best friend and I, finally tripping in La Verendrye, but that never happened.
Some opportunities made the most of and some missed, and those plans are still sitting on a shelf gathering dust. Maybe someday. Maybe.