National Canoe Day

National Canoe Day

Tomorrow is National Canoe Day in Canada. That’s right. National Canoe Day. It would be the equivalent, I suppose, of a National Auto Day in the States if there were such a thing, a day for celebrating that mode of transportation most defining one’s national sensibility and aesthetic.

Canada is in some respects a child of the canoe, which opened up its interior long before a rail ever crossed it. Rivers and lakes were the canoe’s highways, and though there may have been no tolls, there were hellacious bugs, bears, weather worth swearing at. The fishing was free, the maps were marginal, solace was an evening fire and some tobacco. It is tempting to wax romantic over that bygone era but then I stop and realize the era may be gone but, for the most part, the rivers and lakes remain.

Those rivers and lakes are, in fact, the reason I first began coming to Canada. No kidding. I’d guided canoe trips in Maine and in northern Minnesota and heard there was a vaster and more remote wilderness north of Thunder Bay, Ontario. Sure enough, I heard the call of that wild and went; it was rugged and empty and gorgeous. Because I wanted to paddle in places not many had paddled before, I’m now a citizen in a country that celebrates the canoe.

It is a quintessential Canadian day. It may seem a bit quirky, a bit quaint, but it is more than just nostalgia. It is a small way to recognize not only those voyageurs and aboriginals of old, but also those young Canadians who are getting ready, even as I write, to head out to summer canoe camps to learn the way of the canoe.

Perhaps they will master the artistry of paddling on a calm lake so it looks elegant and effortless, subtle, if not sublime. Perhaps they’ll learn how to draw the bow into an eddy, fry up some trout or, best of all, sit in absolute silence as the sun sets over the rocky point where they’ve made camp. And then they’ll hear the cry of a loon. And another loon will answer…the sky will darken, revealing its cathedral of stars. As the campfire crackles behind them, they’ll realize there is no place on earth they would rather be. And sitting there, they are brethren to all who’ve gone before.