Last summer our family returned to one of our favourite canoe playgrounds in Northern Saskatchewan. This trip, we had a couple of friends tagging along who were new to the canoe camping experience so we had planned a route that anyone could tackle. The weather was looking perfect as we unloaded at the drop off point; blue skies, a light breeze and a calm lake.
But the nature of Saskatchewan weather is…temperamental. The land of the living skies is a place of ever changing moods and on this trip the sky was particularly moody.
Don’t get me wrong, we had fantastic weather 75% of the time. The kids helped paddle, went fishing and even had a couple chilly swims. The newbies figured out how to steer and unload after a couple hilarious mishaps and a little bit of Fireball Whiskey before and after each portage kept us warm.
But at least twice a day the temperature would drop, the wind would whip up and clouds would rumble their way in.
Now, I’m not a big storm fan at the best of times. I can be coaxed into a cozy veranda to watch a storm if some wine is available, but ever since I saw Twister when I was eight years old, I assume that every storm will end in some catastrophic disaster. So being in a tiny, paddle-propelled, craft on the water while winds push us backwards or huddled in a tent while they lash through the trees overhead is not my idea of a good time.
One of the storms came upon us as we were crossing a fairly open stretch and my cardio and upper body strength must have tripled under the adrenaline rush my fear gave me. My husband was unfazed, the kids were laughing as the canoe became a roller coaster on the suddenly rough water, I gripped my paddle white knuckled and focused on the fact that the shore was getting closer.
Another one came up as we were finishing our dinner. The tents were already set up and as the first gusts of wind pushed their way through camp one of hthe tents broke loose and flew towards the water. If you want to see grown men and women leap into action like superheroes, anchor a tent on a rocky island with little soil cover as a thunderstorm approaches and bide your time.
If there hadn’t been a good amount of bush and bramble on the edge of the island that tent would have been god-knows-where now. But the boys snatched it and wrestled the tent, that was trying to live its dream of becoming a kite, back to safety and tied it down with no mercy this time.
The new spot was definitely an improvement. As we sat in the wind, putting off the moment when we would have to entertain a 5 year old and an 18 month old in a small tent for however long the storm decided to stick around, we noticed that the earth, where our tent used to be, was breathing. Every time the wind rocked the nearby tree, the shallow roots pulled the soil up with it, loosening it’s tenuous hold on the rocky terrain. My mind filled with imagined sounds of creaking, cracking wood and the shadow of a trunk falling towards us in the night. I was not having a good time.
My husband reassured me. This was all just part of the adventure. The level of risk was low. The storms? Just nature flexing on us a little.
The rain started so we headed to our tents. Me and Ariadne to one, Roman and Dad to the other and the newbies to their own. Everybody in a tent to add our weight to the anchor system.
I lay there, snuggled up with my littlest munchkin, trying to slow my heart rate with a song and attempting to keep my fear in check enough that I wouldn’t freak out my daughter.
As I hummed and sang to the orchestra of howling wind, rustling tent flaps, creaking branches and thudding raindrops I felt grateful. With no electronics to distract us, and nowhere to be but together in our, deceptively tough shelter, I tried to love the storm. To embrace the situation and let myself be filled with wonder and awe at the power of nature….Ya, that didn’t work.
I hated every single one of the five storms that crossed our path over three days of camping. I am sure I will always have a healthy fear of the rage that can come so suddenly from the wide-open Saskatchewan skies. But it’s all just a part of the backcountry experience and it’ll take a lot more than a little fear to stop our adventures.
The Yellow Canoe 