Most of my canoe trips have been solos. At first, it was because my work schedule was so demanding that I was frequently forced to alter time-off plans, even at the last minute. I quickly realized the rejuvenating effect of going solo. Not having to talk for days at a time is what I need.
But, my solo habit bit me in the rear once, big time, sometime around the mid 1990s.
I was on the carry from Forked Lake to the Long Lake, in my Prism. Enjoying the solitude. Early fall. Four guys in solo canoes were behind me. I was not in the mood for company, even though, in those days, solo tripping canoes were not all that common.
They caught up to me while I was messing around at Buttermilk Falls. I don’t remember the specifics or how I was doing it, but I was purposefully keeping my distance and not making eye contact. Shoot, one of them hikes on over through the woods. We chat a bit. We are all headed for the Raquette River Falls carry and points north.
He encourages me to join them. I defer. He keeps encouraging me. He says his companions are really experienced and great fun. He tells me I don’t know what I am missing. I am not listening. I say maybe I will see you all later on. I never get close to the other three. I quickly get in front of them and don’t look back. In fact, I paddle all day, longer than I ordinarily would.
I was messing around exploring the north end of Long Lake, so I knew they would pass me at some point. I don’t remember the time sequence, but they went by while I was resting on high ground, just before where (I think) the Cold River empties into the Raquette. Here they come, one by one, with hearty greetings, over about a half-hour’s time. I was impressed. I began to doubt my insistence on staying solo.