Seniors: Embarrassment of rescue

September-October 1994

This is an article from WaveLength Magazine, available in print in North America and globally on the web.

by Peter Huston

Peter is a neighbour on Gabriola who we recently learned has a considerable background in kayaking. At 74 years of age, Peter enjoys paddling around the islands and writing stories such as the following from a paddling outing years back.

I wouldn't trust myself in a bathtub in that!" Said the fishing camp operator. On Lac la Ronge they like their boats solid, with powerful engines, full of well-to-do American anglers, and the kayak is scorned. There are potentially fierce waters on the northern Saskatchewan lakes. The water is cold, the rocks are sharp and hidden, winds can get up quickly, and any craft calling itself any sort of a canoe must be able to carry a big load.

This trip, in a home made wood and canvas kayak, was on one of the many bays of Lac la Ronge. It was a fine day, but a windy one, and out on the main lake I could see a few whitecaps, but the bay seemed safe enough. I set off across it, a small daughter between my knees, properly equipped with life jackets, spare paddles and spray cover. As we crossed the bay the daughter laughed with glee as wind-blown spray flew over us.

As we reached the mouth of the bay we could see whitecaps everywhere and I found it adviseable to turn into rolling waves that were higher than I had expected. I turned, debating whether to try a direct route back or a considerably longer one along the shore. Eventually I compromised, following the shore and some small islands at first, and then trying a passage across more open water.

About half way across I began to have doubts.We were bouncing up and down, spray was blowing over us and the wind had quite a sideways drift to it."It's a bit rough, isnt it, Daddy?" asked my daughter. "Just a bit", I replied. She laughed. "Will someone come and rescue us?" "No," I said, "that won't be necessary, I hope."

We paddled on. The shore by our campsite looked a long way off, and we did not seem to be getting much nearer. The bright day had become cloudy and the wind was strong. To retreat and hug the shore would add time to the trip.We were dry under the covers and the craft was not taking in water so I paddled on.

"Look," she said, pointing to our right, "someone is coming to our rescue." It was true. A fair sized powerboat, probably from the fishing camp, was bearing down on us. The last thing I wanted was the embarrassment of rescue, and the danger that might be to my craft. Anyway, the waves were smaller here, perhaps the wind was dropping.

"We're OK", I shouted as soon as I judged them able to hear. "We can get back. It's not far now."

The big power boat did not respond. It kept on, fairly fast, coming directly at us. Beyond us was a small, rocky island, in his path.

"Shout out loud, really loud", I said and we bellowed at the top of our voices, "Ahoy! Ahoy! We're OK!"

At the last moment, I turned abruptly out of the powerboat's track, for a while rolling in quite high waves. We shouted again.

A figure appeared in the cockpit. A large man, looking jolly, drunk as a skunk, with a bottle on one hand. He took a swig. I pointed over my shoulder at the island he was headed for. He ducked back into the cockpit and the boat made a lunge toward open water.

He came back and waved to us. "Sorry", he said. "Sorry, good buddy. Have a drink."

I decided to keep well clear. We were both bouncing vigorously.

"Didn't see you!" he said. "Getting a bit rough, isn't it?"

Then he made as if to throw us a can of beer. "Have a drink!"

The remote possibility of him being able to throw accurately alarmed me. I paddled further off, declining with thanks.

"Well, thanks again, good buddy. I guess we could have piled up!"

We parted on good terms, although I watched his progress across the bay with some anxiety, relieved to see him turn around as the boat approached the big lake.

When we got back to camp Mother asked, "Well, did you have an interesting time?"

 

A note on Peter's background Peter built his first canvas and wood frame kayak in 1937 while living on the south bank of the River Humber on the east coast of England. This is a tidal estuary with great stretches of sand and mud at low tides and some tidal races of eight knots, with strong winds. In the 1950s, Peter and family lived in riverside cottage on River Thames opposite Hampton Court. He had several kayaks, all wood and canvas, some home made. He took an old Folbot, folded up, to the headwaters of the Thames by train and came down through all the locks. Another time he took his home made single kayak up by car and came down 64 miles of Thames in a rare June flood, in less than two days. He says of those days that he "imprinted helpless young children with kayaks and love of waterside". In 1959 Peter and family came to to Regina, Saskatchewan. He renewed his kayaking interest on western lakes and rivers and built more kayaks. He kayaked on various bodies of water, including Lac la Ronge, Niemeben Lake, Churchill River, North & South Saskatchewan Rivers, and Athabaska River. He was often accompanied on these trips by his children. He now uses a Folbot which his daughter found in a semi wrecked condition and he refurbished, and a sturdy single wood and canvas craft his son built. Peter is currently interested in stable, wide bodied kayaks because of problems getting in and out due to stiff joints, as well as in the potential of recreational kayaking for many people with movement disorders, and in kayaking as an aid for naturalists.