Morning Meditation

Fifteen years ago, Claude and Sue Powell Cousineau were sitting on the dock at their cottage north of Ottawa discussing the celebration plans of the upcoming Algonquin Park Centennial of which Claude was a director.

This led to thoughts of what they could do themselves to celebrate the event, and just at that moment they heard the call of a loon and plans for a canoe trip were hatched.

• Let's call it a Centennial Canoe Trip.
• Obviously we'll do it in the Park.
• What do you think of tying it to the Camp?
• Do you think we could interest a bunch of vintage campers and staff?
• Let's make some calls.

In the fall of 1992, I got a phone call from Janet Hood advising me of what was in the wind and asking if I would be interested. After a phone call to Claude, who I hadn't seen or spoken to for 32 years, expressing my whole hearted enthusiasm but also my reservations of my ability to carry a canoe with a bad back, and Claude's immediate response that canoe carrying was all taken care of, I was in! Remembering Claude as a Guide, I got the impression that if everyone had a bad back, Claude would carry all the canoes.

With great due diligence on the part of Sue and Claude, it all came together, and 25 of us headed north to the Park for a new adventure.

We were asked to convene at the Visitor's Centre where we were met by Dr. Tay who gave us a tour of the new beaver diorama sponsored by the Camp, and gave us his best wishes for our trip.

We moved on to the Portage Store beach where we teamed up with our waiting canoes, packs, supplies, and laid out food. We got reacquainted while we packed, and set out for 5 days on the Big Trout circuit.

I shared a canoe with Cathy Fauquier who I'd bumped into from time to time over the years and Jill Ruble who I'd only met once at a bon voyage party for her at the end of Camp in 1959 in a hotel suite at the Royal York. I carried a canoe for the first 2 days until I realized that if I continued they'd have to carry me out so then I stuck with packs; which reminds me of the story of the veteran tripper who sets out with his friend who is a total novice. After completing the first portage the novice is moaning and groaning, and the veteran says "Hey, portaging is half the fun of canoeing" and the novice replies "You mean the whole thing is only twice as good as this." (Corner Gas)

The third day was a rest day on Big Trout. After setting up camp the evening before, the conversation turned to what everyone was going to do the next day. Because of our numbers, we travelled together but as 3 trips, and camped each night on 3 different sites. Our group hit on an island just out of the Otterslides that I'd camped on before in 1959 as a CIT with Gary Hood.

Claude and Sue were going to orienteer through the woods to find a hidden lake they'd heard of; Gary and Janet were going to try and find an old campsite that had spring water; Rod Ranta and the girls each had some plans of their own; and Dave Conacher was off to beat a paddling/portaging record of some sort. Who knows?

While I was trying to decide what I wanted to do, I realized that everyone else was leaving the island for the day. I had already been banned from our campsite, evidently due to snoring, and was spending my nights alone in the bush anyway, so I decided to just stay on the island for the day. It turned out to be my favourite day. I skinny dipped for a good wash, reset the fire and cooked a great lunch, and read in the sun with a mink as company screaming at me all afternoon for invading his territory. There is something very satisfying and totally relaxing about spending time alone in the middle of nowhere in the company of nature, and I can now appreciate the idea of those who solo trip every now and again.

Our trip ended at Camp at the Trading Post. As we rounded Hayhurst Point and caught sight of the Trading Post bridge the emotions began. The bridge and paths were lined with all the campers left in Camp, holding a huge sign saying "Welcome Home Centennial Campers" that they had made in Arts and Crafts. By the time we reached and went under the bridge to the Trading Post docks, I was in full tears. When I got out of the canoe with my emotions in check, Rod Ranta, who had landed ahead of me, was standing facing the woods up beside the Trading Post with his back to all the goings on. When I approached him to share feelings, I found him in a full on cry which set me off again and we spent the next couple of minutes doing the half laughing half crying routine while revelling in the moment.

We were told later that we were the last canoe trip to land at the Trading Post docks before they were removed. If this is true, I indeed feel honoured.

With most of us not having seen each other for over 30 years, this event had the potential of working or not, and it worked like a charm. It was one of those events events in life that you were lucky to be part of.

Some of us decided that we wanted to be sure to stay in touch. We agreed that September Camp would be a good way to do it, so we came up the next year and each year since. This is now our 14th year.

Now another thing I did during the day on the Big Trout island with the mink's accompaniment was write a poem, which I will share with you.