Spring is Coming! - Canoecopia

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64 “Rooted in the outdoors since 1976” ELIZABETH KATT-REINDERS I dip my paddle in the river and feel the pull of the current. The baby stands between my knees, clutching the gunwales with his chubby fingers. He strains to see past me, peering at Dad who sits smiling in the stern, instructing our two other boys, three and six, in their paddling “technique.” We’re on our first overnight canoe trip, paddling down a stretch of the Wisconsin River with three other families. John has been pushing me to take a river trip since we had our first son, but until now I have been hesitant to try anything bigger than a lap around the lake or a mile long stretch of a quiet creek. John and I share a love for time spent outdoors, and before we had kids we enjoyed plenty of backpacking and wilderness camping. When we started our family, we transitioned to car camping and discovered plenty of great campgrounds around the country. But an overnight canoe trip? It seemed like more than I wanted to take on. The idea of packing our kids and all of our gear in a canoe and then setting up camp hours away from either our origin or our destination seemed crazy. What if we dump the boat and all of our gear gets wet? What if the boys get antsy sitting in the boat for so long? What if the baby crawls off the sandbar and floats away downriver? My anxious alter ego somehow surfaced and took over my naturally adventurous self when it came to a paddling trip, and for six years I shot down every overnight that John proposed. But something shifted for me when my friend Molly invited us to join a group of families on their annual fall paddle down the Wisconsin River. I had heard about the hardcore wilderness paddlers who take their babies on weeklong Boundary Waters trips, washing cloth diapers in dry bags and watching as little ones cut their teeth on old wooden paddles. And while I liked the idea in theory, I knew I didn’t have it in me. But this trip felt doable. We’d paddle a twelvemile stretch, taking our time and camping on one of the large sandbars in the middle of the river for a night. We’d have the company of other families with little ones, and we’d all be in it together. So we loaded our tent and sleeping bags, a few clothes and enough food for the one meal our family was in charge of into our big blue barrels and we set off down the river. The older boys sit atop dry bags in front of John, and the baby settles in at my feet in the bow. As I pull my paddle through the water, my tension dissipates and A Family’s Tale from the River flows downstream with the current. As parents of little children, it can be too easy to get in the habit of not doing things, to prophesy gloom and doom, to swear off those activities we once enjoyed because they seem too hard to do with kids. But out here on the water the sun shines, the breeze blows, and kids laugh and squeal from four canoes floating down the river in succession. There’s nothing hard about this. I remember what it is I love about being out here—what it is that brought me and John together in the first place. Out on the water, outside the confining walls of home and work we feel our true size in the scheme of the planet. We move through the landscape at a slower pace, noticing the details that go unnoticed at a faster speed. We feel the pull of the current and the water on our paddles. We inhale the moment, letting go of life’s distractions, letting nature restore our energy and feed our souls. My-six year-old wants to shore up to every sandbar we pass, eyeing opportunities for exploration and adventure. But we paddle on for another hour since the baby is happy, not wanting to push our luck. We watch turtles sunning on logs, and we sit slack-jawed as an osprey swoops down, snagging a fish right out of the river. By the time we climb ashore at our sandbar of choice, my baby has fallen asleep and I lay him down for a nap on the beach while we set up camp. I’m so grateful that John didn’t let me back out of this trip. We’ve been taking the kids camping since our oldest was seven weeks old, but a canoe trip feels different—no car, no jungle gym, no electricity, no toys. Traveling by canoe makes the journey as special as the destination, and the simplicity of a boat and a beach and barrel of necessities keeps us that much closer to nature. We want our kids to be comfortable amid the elements—big sky, big water, big wind—and we want to share our love of nature with them at their young, impressionable ages. We want to instill a passion in them for the natural world, a sense of awe for the vastness of it all. We want them to discover hidden places accessible only by foot or by boat. And we hope these trips will help them know us better, that by seeing how we choose to spend our time that we’re showing them what’s important to us, what we value and love. Dark blue swallows the oranges and pinks and the last of the s’mores are eaten around the fire. The kids surrender easily to bedtime, spent from hours digging in the sand and splashing in the
iver. We all sleep well, despite a teething baby. And while I can’t quite drag myself from the tent to catch the sun stealing the sky from the night, I do peak out to see the mist rising off the river in the early morning light. This is what I love about camping—waking up to the sunrise, snug in my sleeping bag, listening as the kids stir and awaken, peppering the still morning air with their munchkin voices and bright ideas. We’re reluctant to leave our island-camp, but we load up the canoes and head towards our takeout six miles downriver. The wind whips stronger today and dark clouds loom ominously ahead, but we try to stay lighthearted. John keeps his fishing rod tucked behind him, and he casts a line in every pool and eddy we pass, despite my snapping at him to keep paddling. He laughs and holds up a Smallmouth Bass for a picture before tossing it back and picking up his paddle. Anxiety creeps up my spine as I eye those dark clouds and worry about soaking wet, crying kids with hours left to paddle. If it was just John and I paddling with our friends, pre-kid days, the weather wouldn’t faze me in the least. But John reminds me that the kids won’t melt if they get a little wet, and besides — we’re prepared. We paddle to shore for a moment and dig out raincoats and pants and warm fleeces. With the boys decked out head to toe and the baby tucked into the leg of a spare pair of John’s rain pants, we paddle off. It’s amazing how quickly my mood shifts. With everyone warm and waterproof, my good spirits return and I find myself looking forward to a rainy paddle. But in five minutes the rain passes and bright blue flushes out the grey. Warm and cozy in our gear, we paddle on, spying osprey and eagles soaring high overhead. As we approach our takeout, I’m happy for the time on the water, but wish the trip could linger a little longer. The current is pulling us further downstream, but we sweep our paddles out wide and steer our way to shore. We climb out of canoes, kids smiling or sleeping; parents relieved and feeling accomplished. We all agree we’ll need two nights next year. As we pack up the van John gives me a big hug, thanking me for giving the trip a shot. I hug him back, and hear myself tell him I may be up for that Boundary Waters trip after all. Elizabeth Katt-Reinders is a freelance writer in Madison, WI. To read more of Elizabeth’s essays, visit her blog www.clarity-chaos.com, or visit her professional website www.verbalmedium.com 65 Canoecopia 2010 www.rutabaga.com The leader in lightweight.
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MARCH 2010 Contents 4 Welcome to Ca
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