Timmy the Tugboat

• Posted on December 11, 2008 at 5:23 PM

Timmy the Tug Boat here. Well previously I was known as “Waterquest 15.7” and only recently have I become a “tug boat”. And let me tell you, I am not terrible impressed with the new name as for I feel completely opposite of a tug boat; fit as a fiddle and fast as the Duracell bunny. The name is derived from the recent adventure I embarked on with two crazy, textbook cramming, fresh-air lacking university students.

Normally I live on a wooden rack in the snowmobile dealership in downtown Prince George. Those motor junkies have no interest in me and rarely do I get the chance to change habitats from this comfy lifestyle I typically lead. But it was Friday, November 7th and I could sense it in the air. When those two kids walked into the store in search of a canoe rental, my owner Bob, was ever so keen to rent me away for an known amount of time. Much chuckling occurred as Bowron Lakes were discussed. For even I wondered about the conditions of the lakes in November - What about the snow? The ice? Won’t the lakes be frozen? Sheesh. Those kids must be idiots. I have a build in cooler, beer holders and am wider than two average canoes put together – why am I being dragged into this? Literally.

Once people at the shop found out about these chumps determined to paddle the Bowron Lakes circuit, many doubters stepped forward. One young lad in particular said that he’d come snowmobiling out there at some point to check if we were alive. Despite the un-encouraging words from pretty much everyone, in no time I was being strapped down to the top of a car and being torn away from my luxurious and comfortable home. Just before leaving the words shouted from the owner of the shops mouth were exactly this, and I quote – “I’ll be watching the news for updates on search and rescue trying to locate you guys next week!”

Teasing. Everyone! Doubters. Outdoor recreation professors doubted; canoe rental place laughed; locals scoffed at the idea. And that wasn’t even the last of it. While waiting at an intersection to make a left turn on Highway 97, a white dodge pulled up beside us, pointed, drew the whole vehicles attention to myself and began laughing hysterically. What’s so crazy about canoeing in November anyway? Common! As you can imagine, I was pretty discouraged at this point. We finally pulled out of Prince George, making the last stop at the liquor store and off to the Bowron trailhead in attempt to make it twenty kilometres that evening.

The first portion of the adventure got off to a late start. It wasn’t until 6:30pm that the two goons finally packed their bags. They wasted time arguing over reducing the amount of dried apricots they were to take and decided on twenty four bagels over sixteen. To prolong the departure they then desperately tried to create a trolley like apparatus that would easily carry me over the not-so-anticipated-un-snowy ground. After much bickering between the two, they finally began pulling me over the jagged rocks once they realised carrying me plus 150 pounds of gear was unrealistic. As the three of us trudged through the woods following the patches of moonlight, both Sam and Syd were awfully quiet. I could sense both of them were doubtful, but neither spoke up, and instead slogged ahead.

Not long after an hour of dragging was I shoved off into a semi-frozen lake. It was dark, cold, and… frozen. Frozen? Kibbee Lake? The crazy broad in the back steering laughed at the conditions, while poor Sam in the front had to listen to her barking commands. The peaceful and calming evening, which involved ice breaking with every paddle was interrupted as Sam shone his headlamp ahead and spotted two eyes reflecting back at him near the shoreline of the lake, a mere 10 meters away. “It’s a bear!” Sam nervously exclaimed and I myself was terrified. This is crazy. These two are crazy. Sam grabbed for his bear spray while the snarky one in the back laughed and told Sam he was an idiot because it was a moose. After sitting there for a few minutes listening to the moose snorting in the pitch black, he soon enough made a break away for the shore as we all sat there watching in silence. I believe Sam made a comment wishing it was that easy for him to break away as well! But that was pretty cool, I must admit. Not too many people get the chance to paddle up close to a moose while it’s feeding! Although we were in no danger, Sam later throughout the trip wouldn’t stop bugging Syd about ‘nearly hitting it’ due to her lack of navigational skills. After an hour of moonlight plod across Kibbee Lake, we finally reached the shore and were due for another portage. This one went much better because snow was present which reduced the green paint trail I left behind, unlike on the other portage. It was now nearing nine o’clock and after trying to identify mysterious, massive, and fresh animal tracks, we arrived at Indianpoint Lake. Our original plan was to navigate to its eastern shore and spend the night, but instead we decided against it as we were greeted with large waves. I was appreciative of the rest and not soon after bear proofing the gear; the two clowns retreated to their tent. Within minutes of silence I heard rastafarian music blasting from the tent. What? A camping trip and they bring a speaker and music? Yuppies. Total yuppies. And it gets worse. I then see Sam rummaging through the food bag, and not long after, pulling out a tub of nutella. Ha! And then! THEN! A box of Sawmill Creek red wine!!! Oh man, I was not so sure what I was dealing with. I came to conclusion it must be ‘Sam the hummus n’ nutella man” and “Syd the bossy boxed wine broad!” As I said my prayers, I prayed that the next coming days be better than the first!

The Saturday morning greeted us with a crisp, cloudy overlook of the never ending Indianpoint Lake. We eventually shoved off the shore around 9am, with fishing gear ready, and smiles all around. The views were spectacular, the water was calm, and both Sam and Syd were eager for the adventure to continue in the daylight. After two hours of paddling, trolling and delightful conversation, we stopped for a while to take a break. The tub of nutella and pepperoni sticks was swapped back and fourth and then a weird sound echoed across the water. Meow? Syd in the back heard a meow and since they were close to shore, she soon jumped to the conclusion it was a cougar. If canoes could laugh out loud, let me tell you, I would have broken out into uncontrollable fully-fledged belly laughter. As Syd responded back to every meow, Sam chuckled. If you ask me, she must be a real idiot, because it sounded too mechanical to be a cougar. And as if cougars are along the lake shore. After a few minutes of Syd conversing with the ‘cougar’ Sam finally turned around with an enormous smirk on his face, held up his camera, pressed ‘on’ and out came a loud, mechnical “Meeeeooow!” A few unkind words were exchanged and Syd pointed out the fact that Sam had thought the moose the night before was a bear! And Sam pronounced back “well yeah, you thought a camera was a cougar!” Ahhh, see what I had to put up with? This kind of ridiculous shenanigans. Syd then demanded a gulp out of the box of wine, and barked at Sam to begin paddling. We trudged on, not before long encountering ice again, and snaking our way through a tapered, grassy slough. Finally we reached out third snow-less portage and after the gruelling push, made it to the shore of the longest lake in the chain, Isaac! After a ‘pep n’ hum’ wrap, the three of us set off to cover as much distance as possible. Not long after departing, it began pouring down rain. Cats and dogs if you will. Is was miserable, but the two kids continued to laugh with each other, snicker at one another, and individually pray that their rod would catch the first fish. After a fly cast here, a new lure there, and Syd saying “here fishy fishy,” they both agreed catching a fish would be awesome. It would allow a break from paddling, because as they slowly inched their way to the corner of Isaac Lake, they were both beginning to get a little bored. I mean with four rods, they should catch something! And then it happened. A tug! Syd quickly scurried for her rod. Sam excitingly acknowledged the fact that she must have a fish but Syd, thinking it felt way too heavy, thought she must have hooked a log as they were relatively close to shore. Dang. But then it seemed to be taking line! YES! It was fast – and a big one! Fishing guide Sam was overcome with excitement and encouraged Syd as she pathetically squealed and squirmed while reeling in the big one. The big one put up a good fight, and as it neared the surface, Sam scooped it up in his net, overcome with exhilaration as it was a massive lake trout! Saaaa-WEET! What a beaut! Once Sam took the hook out of its mouth, Syd the little school girl, began to express sympathy for the fish she had just caught and felt bad for it tangled in the net. I’m pretty sure Sam and I both thought the same thing – “… tisk, tisk… and she calls herself a fisherman!” While Syd freaked out in the back of the canoe in attempt to untangle the poor fishy, Sam quickly paddled to shore. After informing Syd the fish was perfectly okay they snapped a few pictures, and returned the big guy to his home while all of us stood there watching as he swam away. And that was pretty much the highlight of the trip! Well highlight so far… but it was exciting for Syd to actually catch a fish and a handsome one at that. The two continued paddled and within half an hour, Syd had almost landed another! A fishing shark she was! But after fighting with it for several minutes, she lost it just as it neared the boat. Darn, but this intense action sure kept the paddle entertaining! After five hours of paddling, it began nearing dark, and both Sam and Syd realised they must find a place to camp soon. A quick look at the map revealed that they were not too far from a cabin! It was a beautiful evening with flat, moonlit reflecting water, and it wasn’t until 7pm that they located the cabin along the lake shore. Within minutes of moving in, Syd claimed the bunk and organized the gear, while Sam set out to fetch firewood. In the comfy log cabin, they sat in front of the roaring fire, eating Syd’s runny lipton sidekicks and scalloped potatoes, and sipping on fireball, both exclaiming that this truly is the life. They concluded that simple life is the better life and both would rather stay that way forever and never return to the hustle and bustle of civilization. With full bellies, Sam’s whittling project completed and much laugher, both retired and fell into a deep sleep with the sound of the cracking fire and thinking of what is in store of them for tomorrow.

The next day brought lots of paddling, a bit more portaging, and a combination of bickering and laughing! The third night was spent in a quaint cabin on McCleary Lake, at the mouth of the Caribou River. After a delicious nutella-filled grilled panini, both Sam and Syd retired early as they were exhausted from the thirty-five plus kilometres they had covered that day. Tomorrow, they would take off down the Caribou River in attempt to reach Babcock Lake.

Navigating the deadhead filled Caribou River was an adventure in itself. The officious one in the back got fairly annoyed with Sam as he was trying to control me (the canoe) since he felt Syd was not doing an adequate job. Things became tense for a while as Sam demanded Syd steer left as she was headed straight for a massive log. With much muttering under her breath, she navigated the waters perfectly fine, and tossed a few unkind words towards Sam’s direction. She tried to blame me, and my lack of responsiveness. And sure, I was sluggish that day - who wouldn’t be after listening to them for the past few days and loaded down with a hundred and fifty pounds of gear. I think both Sam and I can agree here – that one shall do everything in ones own power to not poke the ‘bear!’ Syd was intense. Demanding. Stubborn. And would take no advice from anyone. That broad should have had a camel back full of wine – maybe she’d (a) steer the canoe better (b) see the obvious logs in the water and (c) be less bossy. I guess it’s to know for next time! Peacefulness was had for the next while as the river calmed down and widened out.

And then came the second tense moment. Sam had spotted something in the river, what he thought to believe was an old trolley. Not long before it, we investigated a destroyed canoe on the bank of the river submerged in silt. All I could think was thanks goodness that wasn’t me, and that my comrades were at least better than those goons that must have paddled that now dilapidated canoe. My heart went out to that poor red clipper. But back to the ‘trolley’… Sam pointed it out as we slowly drifted past it, and with Syd being grumpy from directions being barking at her, chose to ignore him and his discovery. And bam. A fight broke out. Well not a fight, I’d call it a bickering match, and poor Sam was up against the biggest Polish Python of them all. After a bit of convincing, Syd turned me around and we paddled back upstream to get a better look. “Hey, it IS a trolley! Let’s get it!” And once again, if canoes could laugh, I’d be engaged in a full belly chuckle right then and there. Syd impatiently scoffed at the idea, pointed me downstream and told Sam to forget about it. Sam turned around to give Syd his “Urgh, I dislike you” expression while the python in the back just rolled her eyes and continued to reach further and dig deeper into the frigid waters flowing into Lanezi Lake. Silence was had for the next half hour or so. And that was probably the most serene moment of the trip for Sam and I. Alas, Syd was quiet, and neither of us has to listen to her un-humorous jokes, pointless stories, and awkward, spontaneous laugher. And then the wind decided to pick up, rain began to hammer us in the face, and the low clouds offered no scenic views to take our minds off our disgruntled state. But it wasn’t long after until Syd couldn’t remember why she was mad, and eagerly told Sam to take a picture of the ‘beautiful’ day that they were oh so luck to have. What a freak. She’s crazy and changes her emotions on a dime. Maybe that classy broad had been sneaking sips out of the boxed wine which therefore made her happy again. Neither of us will ever know…

Conversation flowed nicely again after that and then came the conversation of fish! Not long after Sam informed Syd that Lanezi lake ‘must be filled with Dolly’s,” he caught one! Both were super stoked, as the regulations allowed them to keep this one, and Chef Sam has a great plan on how to expertly prepare it for dinner! Several pepperoni sticks later, they had come to the end of Lanezi Lake and were trudging along towards Sandy Lake. The beautiful views provided by Sandy Lake and the surrounding area reenergized us all and as we drifted down the Cariboo River nearing dusk, the mountain views appeared and the clouds slowly disappeared. After a quick glance at the map, we decided to push to the campsite at Babcock Lake, but as we began our slow voyage up Babcock Creek, we discovered a cabin! Ah ha! But it was a patroller cabin, which would more than likely be locked, like the rest of them. Despite its unlikely vacancy, those two scam-artists discovered in fact, that it was unlocked and moved in and prepare for an evening of hot wine, scrabble, and freshly smoked fish. The cabin was delightful. The views spectacular. And the fish impeccable. It was a great evening spent in front of the blazing fire playing scrabble. Sam destroyed Syd with his extensive vocabulary, which clearly had no match up against her pathetic four letter words. “I have FONT!” “Oh yeah, I have “roasted.”

While I was dragged onto the grassy slope and slept beneath the lightly falling snowflakes, those two stayed up late discussing edible plants, continental glaciation features and the difference between caddisflies and cicadas. With a late start the next day, I was woken by a dreadful two kilometre drag to the next lake. And the first and only time of the trip, Syd stepped down from her position as captain and allowed Sam to steer me across the short and pathetic Skoi Lake. He did a fine job I must say, and it felt nice to have a man in charge for once! The day was relatively short as the two of them decided an afternoon of fishing would be a nice break. After reaching the end of Spectacle Lake and setting up camp for the night in yet another cushy cabin, we all headed out for an evening of casting. It sure makes a difference when a pro casts, compared to a ‘want-to-be-fly fisherman’ like Syd. For Sam looked like he knew what he was doing and belonged on the front page of Canadian Flyfisher, while Syd should be the star of the article “What not to do!” featured in the very back of the magazine. And it apparently was working for Sam as he was the only one to catch something! That evening was spent alongside Johnny Cash, Jack Johnson, and Xavier Rudd while Sam whittled a canoe inscribed with “love many, trust few, and always paddle your own canoe” meanwhile Syd relaxed in front of the searing fire. As the last night of the trip, they both realised that they must polish off more of food they brought and some bottles of liquor that had yet to be consumed. An evening filled with life stories, good jokes, and fun times resulted in both of them tucked into their sleeping bags relatively early. Must have been all that Rye Whiskey they drank chased by beef bullion.

When I finally came to on that Wednesday morning, my underside was being warmed by the glistening sun. SUN?! I woke up immediately, overcome with joy at the fact that I could finally see the sun! It must be the way it always works. The last day is always the best. Sure, the weather could have been worse, but wow, the whole trip would have been over the top if we had received weather like that of which we had on the last day. It was pretty sad once I had been packed up and shoved off the sandy beach due for the parking lot that I had left so long ago. Both Sam and Syd were thrilled about the t-shirt weather and slowly made their way down Swan Lake. To prolong the trip, they stopped at several campsites and wood lots for Sam to look for good ‘door handle’ potential logs. That’s a whole other bickering story in its own. But long story short, as Syd gathered rocks to take home, Sam took logs. As you can imagine, Syd gave Sam a hard time about this!

Reaching the Bowron Slough and navigating its narrow channels was quite possibly the most memorable part of the chain for all of us. For me it was my favourite because there were no logs present that Syd could ram me into. And for those two clowns, they were filled with joy due to the fact of nearing circuit completion and enjoyed the spectacular views the Caribou Mountains. As we inched our way towards the parking lot where the car awaited our arrival, we all talked about how great the trip had been. Both Sam and Syd swapped stories; the parts where they were doubtful and the times when they wanted to strangle one another. Most surprisingly they were still talking! It had been five days, stuck in the same canoe together… and they were still having friendly conversation! And for me, it has been a wonderful change from the wooden racks at the snowmobile dealership in Prince George. As those two weekend warriors were strapping me down on the roof rack, they both agreed to return to the Bowron. And despite all the doubtful people, would love to return at this time again next year! The people at the rental shop were beyond surprised to see my safe return and even informed us that snowmobilers came out to sled the ridge to see our progress.

Overall, now as I sit here in the luxurious home that I usual reside in, on the wooden racks, I reflect on what an excellent adventure that was. And that I couldn’t have had better company than with those two crazy, school skipping, fresh-air lacking university students.

That’s all.

Timmy the Tug Boat.