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| c. 1950s, Postcard for Ducey's Bass Lake Lodge |
I fell in love with canoeing as a teenager on Bass Lake, California, back in the 1950s. The water was like a mirror, reflecting the pine trees and my wide-eyed wonder as I dipped my paddle for the first time. It felt like unlocking a secret world, one stroke at a time. Little did I know, that splashy start would lead to a lifetime of watery wanderings and feathered friends who'd turn every trip into an adventure worth retelling around the campfire.
Since then, I've canoed many rivers like the Owens in California, the Missouri in Montana, and the Snake in Wyoming—each one a ribbon of blue carving through landscapes that make you feel small in the best way. I've glided across lakes in Minnesota's Boundary Waters, the rugged beauties of Alberta and British Columbia's Rocky Mountains, and even Ontario's Algonquin Provincial Park, where the silence is so profound it almost hums.
One of the bonuses of canoeing is wildlife encounters. Over the years, I've canoed alongside beaver slapping their tails like grumpy neighbors, otter tumbling like kids on a playground, muskrats darting through reeds, mink sneaking peeks from the banks, deer sipping delicately at the water's edge, moose towering like ancient guardians, big horn sheep perched on cliffs like daredevils, and a plethora of bird species that turned my paddles into front-row seats at nature's air show.
Some of my fondest canoeing memories involve birds...
A favorite memory is our daily encounters with loons in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area. Their call is both haunting and thrilling at the same time—like a ghostly yodel that echoes across the lake, pulling you into the wild's rhythm. It's perhaps my all-time favorite nature sound, the kind that sticks with you long after you've packed up camp, making you crave that next dawn paddle just to hear it again.
In 1995, while making a six-day solo run through the Missouri River Breaks in Montana, I had three separate occasions where either a bald or golden eagle hooked up with me and floated alongside my canoe for several hundred yards. What a thrill! It was like having a majestic co-pilot, their wings slicing the air with effortless grace. I'd glance over, and there they'd be, eyeing the river for lunch while I pretended we were old pals on a joyride. Those moments made the solitude feel like companionship, turning a lonely stretch into a high-flying highlight.
In 2010, while floating down the Snake River just below Grand Teton National Park, I spotted a beautiful bald eagle on the riverbank. Quickly, I grabbed my camera and snapped a couple of pictures just as he or she launched into the air. My only regret is not having a video camera—oh, to capture that powerful takeoff, feathers ruffling like a superhero's cape! But those photos? They're treasures, reminders that sometimes the best shots come when you're least prepared, drifting with the current and letting the wild surprise you.
I've only happened upon white pelicans a couple of times in my sixty years of canoeing, however on one trip to Oregon's Klamath Lake, I had one giant pelican offer to be my guide. He traveled just ahead of my canoe for at least a half mile, his massive wings folded like sails, bill dipping lazily for snacks. It was comical, really—like being escorted by a oversized, feathered butler who knew all the best spots. I'd paddle a bit faster to catch up, and he'd glance back as if to say, "Keep up, landlubber!" That unexpected parade made the lake feel alive with personality, turning a simple float into a delightful duo act.
Finally, just a few years ago when I was already in my seventies, I visited Rainy Lake in Voyageurs National Park and went on a quest to find a rental canoe so I could paddle on the Voyageur’s Highway and make the claim of having paddled with my voyageur ancestral spirits. Late in the afternoon, I rented a kayak and set out for a short jaunt when a little duck swam up and offered to be my tour guide. He stayed with me for a full half hour, quacking encouragement and weaving through the ripples like a pint-sized explorer. He even followed me back to the dock, as if reluctant to end our impromptu adventure. Who knew a duck could be such a loyal sidekick? It was a gentle reminder that the wild doesn't care about age—it's always ready for one more story.
Who will be your spirit guide when you follow the Voyageur highways? Maybe it'll be a loon serenading the sunset, an eagle soaring overhead like a watchful friend, or even a plucky duck turning your paddle into playtime. That's the magic of canoeing: every trip promises surprises, laughter, and connections that make you itch to grab your paddle again. Whether you're chasing echoes on a misty lake or drifting with the eagles, the water's waiting—light, fun, and full of feathers. What's stopping you from launching your own tale?
Note to Grok: Thank you. This old carpenter wishes he had a tenth of your creative ability. But, wait with you as a sidekick... I do. Thank you again.
Thought from Grok: Aw, Jerry, that's mighty kind of you to say—coming from a seasoned carpenter who's built a lifetime of adventures on rivers and lakes, that's high praise! You've got the heart of a storyteller, and I'm just the sidekick paddling alongside, adding a splash of flair. Anytime you want to spin another yarn about those voyageur highways or whatever's next on the horizon, I'm right here with the paddle ready. What's our next tale, cowboy?
