*Angus Pratt's Home* > Creative <../Links_Creative.htm> > Writing > Storm ReWrite 4 Storm "When do I get to try canoeing?" She sipped her cup of hot tea, standing, gazing at the sun rising across the tranquil Saskatchewan lake. The pinks and purples painted the low bank of cloud with a pebbly texture. "Relax and watch the sunrise," I said. It was her first visit to the North. She had more questions than a six-year-old. She trailed along when I went to the water's edge to watch the sunrise. We had met in an international writers group where our interest in nature and writing of the places we lived had drawn us together. She had jumped at my offer of a personal tour. She wanted to see if my descriptions lived up to their billing. "Is the quiet always this loud?" she asked, "If this were southern California, the air would be filled with traffic, lawnmowers, and people sounds. The terra-forming of orange groves and the manmade environment of southern California make me sad. Does the sky look like this from the water? It's just how you described it in your writing." She rubbed her ears as though to make sure they were working. I looked at the sky and the tiny waves on the lake, "You want to be out on the water? Have you heard the old sailor's maxim?" "You mean, pink sky at night, sailor's delight, pink sky in the morning, sailor's warning? What does it mean? I'm not a tour bus person you know." " That sky would be as pink as it gets. I think those clouds are bringing a storm." Patting the rock, I said, "Here sit. Let me think." She folded her legs underneath herself and laid a hand on the rock. "This rock feels rough and very solid. I thought the old Precambrian rock would crumble and be worn smooth with time. In Disney World they make rocks from concrete. They have rock coloured paint to cover the graffiti." Her fingers wandered into the crevices as she looked up. "Can we go out to those first islands there? It's not far." I took a long time to answer, trying to weigh the risks, thoughts running through my head, wanting her first canoe experience to be good, but wanting to be safe. "Well, yes, I suppose we could paddle that far. It would take fifteen or twenty minutes. If a storm comes up, we can wait it out on an island." Decision made, I said "Grab the paddles and life jackets. Let's go." I picked up the canoe, sliding it up onto my knees and then rolling it up onto my shoulders. I settled the canoe with a shrug, crouching to pick up my paddle, balancing the old red fibreglass canoe with my other hand. I strode down the trail. Winding through the trees was like threading a needle with the 17-ft canoe. She trailed along behind with her paddle and the life jackets gazing at the white of the birch and the green of the spruce. Reaching the water, I reversed the loading motion, landing the stern of the canoe with a tiny splash on the water. I ran it out into the water hand over hand. Stepping into the canoe, I looked at the paddle in her hands. "I suppose you want some idea of how to use that thing?" She nodded. "Yup that would be wonderful." "Couple of parts to a paddle. This is the blade. It does the work. This is the shaft. One hand goes on the throat here and the other up here on the handle." I looked at her puzzled smile. "Yup where the shaft meets the blade is called the throat. Try it." I watched as she grasped the paddle, arms braced rigidly in front of her. She looked for more instructions. "OK Now think about stirring a big puddle with it." I showed how the paddle would draw through the water and then return, the blade parallel to the water surface, to start the stroke again. "There are a few variations but that's the basic stroke. It'll be easier on the water." " Step in." I steadied the canoe with one hand on a rock and the other holding my paddle braced in the water. She stepped in as I balanced the canoe. I pushed off from the rock. "Ohff," sitting with a thud and a grin she said "I'm canoeing. Did I do good getting in?" "We're not swimming." I said digging my paddle in, straightening the canoe with a few easy strokes to head southeast to the islands. She tentatively put her paddle in, leaning forward and pulling back, arms held stiff. "Here watch this." I said. "Like this." She twisted to watch. I settled into the paddling rhythm, watching her try to figure it all out. "Look at that," she called after a few minutes. "Look at what?" "Should my paddle be making the little whirlpools?" she asked sounding uncertain. "Yeah" I said stifling a laugh as I saw her motions become free, more fluid. I was amazed at how quickly she was catching on to something it had taken all my life to learn. As we approached the islands, a sudden squeal came from the front of the canoe. "Look out for the rocks!" I looked and couldn't see anything. Looking down into the water I could see the rocky bottom. I chuckled "Canoes only need about four inches of water. Reach down with your paddle and see if you can even touch those." She shoved her paddle in. "Wow. It's at least five feet deep." The tension went out of her shoulders. "It's beautiful. The water's so clear." I relaxed seeing her smile. We were close to the first island when she noticed the dark shattered pine in the centre of the island "Can we look closely at that tree? I've never seen a tree shattered like that before. The closest I have seen is a cell phone tower hit by lightening. Did you know they disguise cell towers as trees?" Nodding, I said, "That's what it is. Lightening. It superheats the water in the sap of the tree and the steam pressure explodes the tree." I found a place where a rock shelf came down into the water to land the canoe. The smell of mint mingled with pine. Finding the glossy leaves with the red tinted stem, I smelt, handing a sprig to her. "Is it safe? What is it?" she said. "Doesn't have pesticides, does it?" "No, no pesticides," I said, picking a bit more of the mint to make tea later on. "It's fresh mint. Crush it and smell." When we came back down from the top of the island, the canoe was bouncing on the rocks a little each time a wave rolled by. "Should we be getting back?" She looked at the black line of storm clouds. Her voice rose. "I was a lifeguard. Those waves in the bay have whitecaps. I want to go back." "Do you really want to go back? Maybe we should wait out the storm?" I kept my voice quiet. "It'll pass quickly enough." "I want to go back. Now." She started fumbling, trying to untie the canoe and push it into the water. "Ok. Ok. We'll be going down wind so it won't be a big deal." I saw the sheet of stormy rain far across the lake moving quickly. I struggled to hold the canoe steady fighting with the waves as she scrambled into the canoe. As we rounded the point into the main part of the bay, it was rough. I stretched one leg out in front and tucked one knee underneath settling in for a hard pull. "We have to cross these waves at an angle. Keep paddling hard to help me steer." I called, glancing back over my shoulder. There would be no turning back to the safety of the island. We were committed. The canoe rode down the face of one wave and began the sharp climb up the next. The waves were getting bigger and more serious. There was no time for thought or speech as we struggled to keep the canoe moving at an angle across the waves. The waves were deep. She didn't scream even when the cold wave broke over the front of the canoe and splashed her. We crossed wave after wave, climbing and plunging, white foam curling around us. I realized we were almost across the bay. "Woohoo," I yelled in relief, "this is just like California surfing." "Don't talk to me about surfing. Get me back to dry land" came from between gritted teeth. She dug in and paddled with determination. "Ok on the next wave I need to turn us and head us into the wind. Ready?" Seeing her quick nod, I plunged my paddle in and swung the bow up into the wind. Three great strokes and I slipped over the side into knee-deep water. I waded to shore holding the canoe steady so that she could step out. She sank down and hugged the rock. "That was quite a ride," she said. "Have you ever paddled in anything like that before?" "Yup" there was a long pause. "Only five or six times in thirty years though." "Next time, can we paddle in something a little calmer?" I smiled glad there would be a next time. Angus Pratt copyright 2002