CHAPTER XVIII
THE CANOE AND FISHING
It was my somewhat tempered good fortune, several years ago, to spend two or three weeks in an exceedingly bleak place on a far northern coast. The only genial element about this barren spot was its sea captains, and whence they drew their geniality heaven only knows. They made me think of nothing so much as of the warm lichen which sometimes flourishes upon cold rocks. There strayed into this neighborhood a couple of canoes. “Waal,” exclaimed one of the old salts, viewing this water craft skeptically, “it’s the nearest next to nothing of anything I have ever heard tell on.”
And that is precisely what the canoe is: the nearest next to nothing in water craft which you can imagine. It is in precisely this nothingness that its charm lies, its lightness, its grace, its friskiness, its strength, its motion, its adaptability to circumstances. There are times when it acts like a demon, and there are other times when its intelligence is almost uncanny. The canoe is always high spirited, and, with high-spirited things, whether they be horseflesh or canoe, it does not do to trifle. The girl who expects to take liberties with the canoe has some dreadful, if not fatal, experiences ahead of her. Several years ago I was out in a motor boat with some friends. Two of them had been, or were, connected with the United States Navy; another was my sister, and a fourth was a college friend. My friend happened to see a pistol lying on a seat near her. She had never had anything to do with pistols, and, on some insane impulse of the moment, she picked it up and leveled it at me. I was stunned, but not so the men on the boat. Such a shout of rage and indignation, such a leap to seize the pistol, and such a rebuke, I have never been witness to before. These men were navy men, and they knew how criminally foolish it is to fool with what may bring disaster. It is those who know the canoe best and are best able to handle it, who are most cautious in its use. Those of you who expect to treat it as you might the family horse would do well to look out.
The canvas-covered cedar canoe is the best. If you are going to take a lot of duffle with you, the canoes will have to be longer than you need otherwise have them: about eighteen feet, and only two people to a canoe. The canoe will cost you from twenty-five dollars up, and this item does not include the paddle. The paddle should be bought exactly your own height; it will then be an ideal length for paddling. Its cost will be a little more or a little less than a dollar and a half. You should have a large sponge, tied to a string, on one of the thwarts. This you will use for bailing when necessary.
If you have had any experience with a canoe, you will not abuse it, and will not need to be told not to abuse it. If it is a light one, and you are a strong girl, you should learn to carry it Micmac fashion on the paddle blades, a sweater over your shoulders to serve as cushion. Watch a woodsman and see the way he handles a canoe. One of the very first things you will observe is that he never drags it about, but lifts it clean off the ground by the thwarts, holding the concave side toward him. Also, you should observe his soft-footed movements when he is stepping into a canoe. If a canoe is not in use it should be turned upside down. Never neglect your canoe, for a small puncture in it is like the proverbial small hole in a dike. If you let it go, you will have a heavy, water-soaked craft or a swamped one. Water soaking turns a seemingly intelligent, high-spirited canoe, capable of answering to your least wish or touch, into the most lunk-headed thing imaginable, a thing so stupid and so dead and so obstinate, that life with it becomes a burden. Remember that the wounds in your canoe need quite as much attention as your own would.
The balance of a canoe is a ticklish thing. To the novice, the day when she can paddle through stiff water while she trolls with a rod under her knee and lands a two- or three-pound salmon unaided, seems far off. I am by no means a past-master in the art of canoeing, yet I have often done this, and am no longer troubled by the question of balance in a canoe. So much for encouragement! Most of an art lies, granting the initial gift for it, in custom or habit. Make yourself familiar with the traits of your canoe, work hard to learn everything you should know about it, and your lesson will soon be learned.
When you are going to get into it, have your canoe securely beside a landing, and then step carefully into the center and middle. Bring the second foot after the first only when you are sure that you have your balance. The next thing is to sit down. Be certain that it is not in the water. The only satisfactory recipe for this delicate act is to do it. No girl should step into a canoe for the first time without some one at the bow to steady it. Very quickly you will learn clever ways of using your paddle to help in keeping the balance. Until you do, you can’t be too careful, or too careful that others should be careful. Take no chances in a canoe. If any are taken for you, hang on to your paddle. It is well to have an inflatable life-preserver, but, best of all, is it to know how to swim. Never move around in a canoe, or turn quickly to look over your shoulder. A canoe is a long-suffering thing, but once “riled” and its mind made up to capsize, heaven and earth cannot prevent that consummation and your ducking or even drowning.
BROOK TROUT
