Mixing it up in Killarney

Summer 2009

Canoe trip proves the perfect outing for blended family

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

To download a pdf copy of the magazine click here: DOWNLOAD

By Terry Johnson

“Come on – put in on,” prods Rebecca, my 14-year-old stepdaughter. She prances around to show me that wearing a lifejacket upside down like a diaper is not embarrassing or un-cool at all.

“Just do it! It’s so fun.” With complete abandon, she does a little jig on the rock, and then leaps into the lake with a splash.

“Dia-per-BOB, dia-per-BOB,” chant Rebecca and her sister Victoria, trying to coax me to stick my legs into the armholes of my zipped-up life jacket, wiggle it up past my butt and bob around in the lake with them.

We were on a one-week paddling vacation along the outskirts of Killarney Provincial Park in Ontario. Denis, my husband, his two girls Victoria, age 12 and Rebecca, and our dog Tanzer were on this adventure we had talked about for years. Now, we were finally doing it.

We had stopped early today. This cute little island we checked out for a mid-morning blueberry-picking break proved too nice to leave. Now it looked like “diaper bobbing” was going to be the afternoon entertainment. I finally gave up my dignity and donned the diaper, struck a pose on the rock, and to the sound of applause, jumped in.

We had seven portages planned for our second day moving along the northwest side of Killarney. We were coming up to our third portage when Rebecca, my paddling partner for the day asked, “Can I carry the canoe?”

“Wow! Sure you can!” We got out and unloaded. I showed Rebecca the easiest way to pick up a canoe.

“Stand in front of me there, Beck, and help me roll it up. Do it together ... ready ... keep the bow on the ground ... up ... that’s it.” We stood holding the canoe over our heads. I told her to let go and move up to get under the yoke. Gingerly I lowered the canoe to rest on her narrow shoulders. Rebecca lifted the bow off the ground and stood a moment balancing the canoe. Dad went nuts with the camera snapping pictures.

Rebecca gamely headed down the trail with me behind in case she needed to take a break. A slippery root almost spelled disaster, but she strained, paused, rebalanced the canoe and continued on for the entire 280 metres. I helped her take the canoe off and we high-fived each other. Her flushed face broke into a wide grin of accomplishment. I grinned with accomplishment as well. That high five was a little moment that we could call our own.

Near the end of the day I heard Tanzer splash into the water just ahead of me, though she is not a water dog. I came round the corner with the canoe on my shoulders and there, not six feet from me, were two otters rising so far out of the water that they looked like little totem poles.

They began to “psht” at me – a wet noise of air forced out of their nostrils. Tanzer stood frozen on shore. I kept still with the canoe not wanting to scare them off. They flared their nostrils, twitched their whiskers and pulsed up and down in the water.

“Psht,” I said back to them, and they looked at me with renewed interest. Finally, I heard a noise behind me.

“Look at the otters!” I whispered.

“Oh!” Vicky gasped. I put the canoe down and the otters moved away slightly. I could see two more otters – an adult with three young. The adult was sitting on a log next to the shore eating a piece of fish. Her sharp teeth gleamed as she fiercely chewed with an open mouth, and we could hear the wet smacking sounds. She slipped into the water and all four of them glided farther away. The young ones peeked back at us once, and then began to playfully roll over each other.

We watched together in silence, and then, “That was so cool!” Rebecca said.

Back home the girls and I gathered around the kitchen table with the full Killarney map spread out.

“Who can draw our route on the map?” I challenged. Rebecca picked up the highlighter and began to retrace our trip.

“And this portage is where we hid under the boat from the lightning ... and ... this is the campsite Vicky got busted with her candy-stash in the tent. And this is the beach we had the water races ... ”

Looking back we could see the distance we covered, paddling and portaging completely by our own power; carrying everything we needed to live. The challenges of the portages and headwinds are like the challenges faced by a blended family. Both require some work, but the rewards are always worth it. We caught eyes, united in our appreciation of ourselves – and maybe a little closer now than when we left.

Terry Johnson is already planning her next paddling adventure. Visit her at www.terrylynnjohnson.com