I was considering doing the same thing with my kayak when Yves winked at me and said: “Chance of a lifetime, man! You can do it!” Of course I had to take the challenge. We men are kind of stupid that way. Fortunately for me, it wasn’t as terrifying as it looked – the kayak seemed to naturally seek out the less riotous channels, so all I had to do was provide a little muscle and take evasive action whenever it looked like I was about to have a close encounter with a pointy rock. Ducking to avoid the overhanging sweepers and blasting out between the final set of boulders at the bottom was a real rush! A few minutes later the second canoe made its way through. We paddled for another hour before calling it quits and setting up camp for the night.

The next morning dawned cold. A beautiful ghost-like mist cloaked the river. Eventually the sun rose high enough to burn the haze away. We ate breakfast, packed up and slid our vessels into the water. The wind was at our backs and we had no major portages that day, so we made excellent time. By early evening we arrived at our new campsite. We pitched the tents, started a fire and ate a hearty supper. That night a thousand stars filled the heavens.

Saturday was our designated rest day. Activities included reading, writing, swimming, hiking, bird-watching and fishing. After lunch Will and John decided to paddle 30 minutes downstream to recon Sun Rapids. It was listed as a Class II technical, so they figured they wouldn’t have any trouble running it in an empty canoe. Several hours later they were still missing in action and the rest of us were beginning to worry. We were just getting ready to go search for them when they paddled into view. They were sodden and their canoe was sporting an impressive array of fresh dings and scrapes. It turned out they had run the rapids twice. The first time they selected a route that had them pass to the right of a huge boulder in the middle of the whitewater. The second time around they attempted to pass the boulder on the left, but the current caught them broadside and slammed them against it. At the moment of impact they were both catapulted into the turbulence and their paddles floated away. The incredible force of the rushing water pinned the canoe in place and bent it into a U-shape, inside-out, around the rock. Amazingly, it didn’t snap in two. While Will swam downstream through the rapids to retrieve the paddles, John stood in the pounding, chin-high water and struggled to pry the canoe loose. It had taken a unique combination of prayers, curses and Herculean effort, but eventually they were successful in both finding the paddles and freeing the canoe. Thanks to the Royalex material the canoe was made of, it sprang back into its normal shape as soon as it was off the rock. The journey back to our site depleted whatever little energy John and Will had left. They both slept like logs that night.

The next day we were all careful to give due respect to Sun Rapids’ now infamous canoe-eating boulder. It wasn’t difficult to spot, given the fact it was the only rock in the river with a wide strip of red paint on it. While the others lined the canoes down river left, I cautiously navigated my vessel through a kayak-friendly channel. The ensuing Barrel Rapids was also handled with kid gloves.

At last we arrived at the marshes of Peterbell, home to a wide variety of northern Ontario flora and fauna and the border of the Chapleau Crown Game Preserve. Years ago Peterbell was a thriving logging outpost community, but now it is completely devoid of human inhabitants. A VIA Rail train passes through it three times a week, and if a canoe party is waiting by the tracks the train stops and picks them up. We dragged our provisions ashore and set up camp in a field. Our plan was to get up early the next day and schlep our stuff to the tracks. When the train made its scheduled mid-morning appearance we’d be home free. We got a good blaze going, ate supper under a molten sky and traded war stories about prior canoe trips.

At 10:30 that night, Larry, Will and John turned in. Yves and I were still wide awake, so we stayed up late kibitzing. Shortly after 11:00 Yves stepped beyond the perimeter of flickering light cast by the fire to empty his bladder. A minute later he was back.

“I just saw a dog,” he said.

“Yves, we’re at least a hundred klicks away from the nearest house. Are you sure it was a dog?”

“Uh-huh. I think I’ll go call it. Maybe it’s hungry!”

Before I could say another word he turned around and was engulfed by the darkness once again.

“Here, doggy, doggy! Here, boy! Here… . Sacré bleu!”

In an instant he was back beside me. He looked totally freaked.

“What?” I asked.

“That was no dog!”

“What was it?”

“A wolf!”

“Yikes!”

We put another armful of dry logs on the fire and stayed up an extra hour before retiring to our sleeping bags.

At 0-dark-30 hours I was awakened by the sound of Larry climbing back into our two-man tent after the traditional early morning if-I-hold-it-any-longer-I’ll-explode pee.

“Hey,” I mumbled groggily, “While you were out there, did you happen to see that wolf?”

“What wolf?”

Just then a piercing, high-pitched howl began. It was so loud, it sounded like it was coming from the outside flap of our tent. Larry’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head.

“What the hell is that?” he whispered.

“A wolf. Yves saw it last night.”

The howling stopped abruptly. The sudden silence was almost as jarring as the unexpected wolf call had been.

“Should we – ?”

The howling began again, except this time it was eight times louder because many new voices were participating. The blood-curdling, ululating chorus went on and on, from every possible direction. Then it ceased, leaving echoes ricocheting around the insides of our skulls.

My heart was jack-hammering in my chest. Talk about a dramatic wakeup call! If those critters were hungry, our thin polyester tents weren’t going to be much of a deterrent to them. We armed ourselves with flashlights and unzipped the tent flap.

Yves, Will and John spilled out of their tent just as Larry and I emerged from ours. It was still dark enough to prevent us from seeing much past the glowing embers in the fire pit. Larry flicked on his flashlight and cast its beam of light northward into the gloom. A pair of green wolf eyes stared back at him. He aimed his flashlight south. Another wolf. East, west and several ordinal points in between – you guessed it. We were surrounded by a wolf pack.

“Say, guys,” I said, hoping no one noticed my voice’s sudden ascent to castrato. “Do wolves ever, um, eat people?”

“I… don’t think so,” replied Will.

“Are you sure about that?”

“No.”

The wolves stared at us silently for a long time before melting away into the shadows.

Not surprisingly, no one wandered off by themselves to wash their face in the river that morning. Instead, we skipped breakfast, set a new world record for disassembling a campsite and double-timed it to the train tracks. We were all very happy campers when the VIA train finally appeared in the distance.

Can’t wait for next year’s trip!

Tabula Rasa

Could someone please remind me why we strive so hard to keep Harry alive?

Harry is a severely handicapped middle-aged man. Cauliflower-shaped tumours burst out of his scalp and protrude through his patchy hair at irregular intervals. He grinds his teeth incessantly. It’s a loud, grating noise that makes you want to scream.

He has no intelligible speech. To be honest, he has nothing even vaguely resembling any sort of communication. He is unable to use his limbs in any purposeful manner, so he is permanently diapered and confined to a wheelchair.