Prince Albert, Saskatchewan... in a can.

One of my favourite descriptions of the Canadian prairies is that 'it's so flat and boring in the prairies you can watch your dog run away for two days'. From the airplane I could see that the flat part was right but I was hoping that I could find something more exciting than dog watching to look at during my four day visit to Prince Albert, about 400 kms north of Saskatoon.

The small Pronto Airlines plane bumped down at 6pm, about six hours after I left Toronto at 2pm. Time changes confuse the hell out me and when my blackberry didn't reset itself properly in either Winnipeg or Saskatoon I was thrown off for the next three days, constantly asking people what the real time was. Being in communication with people across the country often adds to my confusion and I've missed more than one flight because I misread/misunderstood what time it was.

For once I had assembled my whole team in town the day before the work project began, and with one member of the team leaving after this job I had planned on sending her off with a night out to remember. We checked in at the hotel and then met at Rogues Tavern across the parking lot for a couple of pints of Great Northern beer. Rogues is a local bar, with a hard working blue collar clientele. In other words, a shit hole.. but the sun beamed down on the patio and the company was excellent and we talked and laughed for a couple of hours. Nicely lubricated by the sun and the beer we later headed to dinner at 'Amy's On 2nd', a restaurant that was highly recommended by the locals.

I've come to appreciate the wonderful restaurants that exist in small outposts across this country and northern towns, whether Ontario, the Prairies or on either of our coasts, constantly amaze me by outclassing the restaurants found in the larger cities of the south. The pickerel special at 'Amy's' had me salivating by the end of the waiter's description but sadly, when it arrived almost an hour later, did not live up to the reputation that preceded it's late arrival. We washed down our meals with several bottles of Chilean wine and a decadent cheesecake and toasted the boss back in Toronto for approving the ridiculous expenses that might accumulate during the week. About 11pm local time our we (I) paid the bill at Amy's and walked around the corner to the Northern Lights Casino. I quickly lost the $20 I had in my pocket and sheepishly went in search of an ATM. The four of us then settled in at a blackjack table and proceeded to try, in our fairly inebriated state, to not act like a bunch of drunken city folk on a business trip in Northern Saskatchewan.

It wasn't long before we attracted the attention of the 'pit-bosses' (Pit-boss is a new word to me.. one I'm pretty sure I'll never use again.) We were warned about noise, cursing, late betting, jumping (in celebration ), hitting the table (in frustration) and god knows what else. We were not warned about over betting. Against all odds, literally and figuratively, my stack of chips continued to grow as everyone else's dwindled and after a bunch of hands I cashed in and realized I was up $100. We wrapped up the night later at the hotel drinking Crown and cokes out of tiny plastic hotel room cups, laughing and sending drunken e-mails and pictures to our colleagues across the country.

As always work duties kept me busy the next couple of days but the morning of the third day brought a few hours break in my work schedule and I grabbed the opportunity to head out to explore the wild streets of Prince Albert. Excited, as always, to see what the hidden jem was to be found in this small northern prairie town. I followed green lights around town for a half hour, seeing the same box stores, fast food chains and gas stations that I see everywhere until I saw a road sign pointing to River Street. Most places seem to have a River St or Front St or Lakeshore Dr and I inevitably gravitate to them. Water usually means public spaces and picture taking opportunities and this particular River St did not disappoint.

The Saskatchewan River, I learned on Wikipedia, is a pretty frickin big river. It runs from the Alberta Rockies all the way to Lake Winnipeg. It was cool to stand beside a river that I have looked down on a dozen times from airplane windows as it snakes it way 500 kms across the prairies.

The river allowed water travel across the country 'back in the day' and Prince Albert played a big part in the history of early exploration, the Hudson's Bay Co, Louis Riel's uprising in 1885, Canadian Conservatism, and countless other interesting events all depicted on various plaques and monuments along the river. I walked along the river for awhile and then headed into town to find myself in the older, and somewhat seedier district. It was so depressing to see the same obvious issues here as in so many other northern towns. Poverty, second rate liquor stores, shitty rooming houses, and pawn shops are the backdrop to men stumbling around in the morning or lying on sidewalks.

 (So often men of our First Nations,  still struggling with the same issues of the last hundred years. I've seen it in Winnipeg, Toronto, Thunder Bay, The Soo, Sudbury, Vancouver.. homelessness, unemployment, under-education.... alcoholism, drug abuse, poverty.  I feel shame when I encounter this face to face over and over again and wish the whole country felt the same.)

I wandered around the streets of Old Prince Albert, checking out the buildings down the sidestreets and finding little hints of what it would've been like in those historic times.Old painted advertisements on the sides of buildings selling chewing tobacco and O-Pee-Chee Chewing gum catch my eye and after I snap pics I see demolition signs on the front of the buildings.. another piece of history gone.

I headed back to my rental car, walking through the town square and checking out the original Town Hall (circa 1892) Opera House, Jail and Museum (closed as per usual) then drove 'uptown' to check out the house of our 13th PM, John G Diefenbaker.

(Way back in grade 6 history we had to pick a Canadian historical figure to do a project on. I don't know why I picked good ol' John G but I did and as a result know way more than anyone else I know about this mid-century PM.) 

 I felt like an Elvis fan approaching Graceland as I followed the road markers through the tree-lined, tony streets to the small-ish, modest house. I rolled down the window and snapped a picture with my BlackBerry® (don't even ask about my brand new already dropped in lake now abandoned on airplane camera) and headed back to the hotel to get ready for work.

One last dinner that night with the team at an amazing steakhouse called Sopranos where I ate the best lobster ravioli ever made wrapped up the trip for most of the group and we parted with full bellies and a slight wobble in our steps as the result of more than a couple of bottles of wine.

 (I highly recommend this Sopranos to anyone ever having the misfortune to find themselves in Prince Albert, Saskatchewan!!)

With most of the team having flown or driven out early the next morning G. and I planned on killing the last few hours in town wandering around the Historical Museum and the Art Gallery, both of which she had called to make sure they were open. The museum was surprisingly interesting and well stocked with artifacts of both local and national significance. It was well worth the two dollar admission and 25 cent per hour parking meter. We finished up at the museum and started walking to the Art Gallery when G realized that our plane was leaving two hours earlier than we thought (again that time difference threw me off!) The Art Gallery was out and we ran to the car then raced to the airport calling the rental company on the way to tell them they would have to pick up their car there. With no time to eat before 6 hour of flights ahead of me I grabbed vending machine snacks and stuff as much crap into my face as I could while the attendant tried to push me through security.

NorthWestern Airlines 'flew' us back to Saskatoon then 'chaffeured' us down the street to the 'real' terminal in a short bus that was quite obviously a castoff from the Korean War. I wouldn't have been surprised if the driver had asked us to hop out and give the bus a push to get it started. We arrived at Air Canada terminal a short ride later and ran for our connecting flight, hoping that someone remembered to take our luggage and route it on to Toronto. With luck we had a delay in Saskatoon and had the time to sit down for lunch, of course my meal came stuffed with chicken which I can't eat and I sent it back and got on the next flight still hungry. Turbulence prevented any food service on the 2.5 hour flight to Winnipeg and I got through the flight digging stale peanuts out of my backpack and pretending that it wasn't my stomach making all that noise.

A quick turnaround in the 'Peg and on to Toronto, the final leg of the journey. Food was served on the Air Canada flight but by the time they reached my seat they had sold out of veggie sandwiches and pizza so I once again tried to fill up on junk. Pringles, chocolate and beer served as lunch and dinner and my stomach churned and gurgled in protest.

Touching down in Toronto at about 10pm, six hours after leaving Prince Albert at 2pm, I waited an hour for my luggage and headed home. A ridiculous traffic slowdown on the highway extended the trip an extra hour and I was glad to finally hit my exit and be almost home at last. With my mind already focused on what I may have to eat in the fridge at home to make the by now epic rumbling in my stomach stop I was surprised less than a kilometer from home when the police car raced up behind me and pulled me over for an 'amber light infraction.' With my license and insurance nowhere to be found (bottom of suitcase) the cop was happy to write me three tickets totalling almost $300 .

Welcome home.

A last minute adventure in Killarney.

A couple of hours before I left for Sudbury for a few days on business, I decided to pack my camping gear and try to book a couple of days off at the end of the week to get back to the outdoors. A few quick hikes in the last month had proven that my still recovering ankle would hold up to a bit of exercise if I was careful and they had definitely whetted my appetite for a bit of solitude in nature.

Driving up the 400 through French River I spotted an outdoors outfitter renting canoes and kayaks and had a idea that maybe I could do some paddling instead of hiking. I hadn't paddled anything for many years but a lack of knowledge and experience doesn't often stop me, much to the chagrin of my parents and I spent some downtime while I was in town, making phone calls trying to get organized. I got the run around at the French River outfitters and the camping seemed a little sketchy so I easily switched gears and decided to head to Killarney Provincial Park for the three days off that I had finagled from work.

I was up early Wednesday morning and spent a few hours buzzing around the city picking up supplies (sleeping bag cold weather liner, water shoes, water bottle, food) keeping my eyes on the sky as I went. A massive spring storm had come through the night before and dark clouds and high winds this morning had me second guessing my plans already. If I could have put off leaving for one more day I would've but an extreme lack of hotel rooms in Sudbury was forcing me out and I needed to be back home by the morning of the fourth day for a much anticipated lunch with a childhood friend.

So.. down the highway I roared, the clouds in strong pursuit and indeed getting darker. I paused at the turnoff for the park (and looked for the missing "Where spirits come to play" sign) and one more time debated heading home but then continued on.

Checking in first at the park office for weather and site availability, I then headed to the local outfitters to see about renting a kayak. My plan was to spend the night at the campsite at George Lake and then have a kayak delivered the next morning to Bell Lake, an access point at the Killarney Lakelands and Headwaters about a forty minute drive northeast. I could paddle to a site several kilometers up the lake and camp there for the night. I could then either explore the lake by water the third day before heading home or stop and take the opportunity be one of the first to hike the new 3.5 km Lake of the Woods trail.

Campsite at Lake George

Back at the park I drove around until I found a secluded spot close to the lake. It wasn't quite back-country but as the wind continued to blow I was kinda glad not to be to isolated. I set up camp on the hard packed gravelly site, the only flat ground being the parking space which was where I set my tent. Creatively, and with the use of my car and a picnic table I was able to position a tarp and my rain poncho to create a wind barrier. The wind did nothing to keep the bugs away, mosquitoes and black flies were a continual nuisance, and as I collected firewood in the soaked forest they feasted on the back of my neck and my hands and flew into my eyes and ears as well.

I huddled through the late afternoon and into the night while fighting to burn a campfire that refused to be a fire. Any wood I could find was soaked from last nights storm and while producing enormous amounts of smoke, it produced very little warmth. At one point I stretched out in the back seat of my car to find a place to read and drink my beer away from the dampness, the wind and the bugs. (The one upside of car camping is the ability to drink cold beer, a luxury always missed when on hiking trips.)

Morning came early after a cold night in the tent and I got up, back sore from sleeping on a gravelly ground. With hat and gloves on I made coffee and started packing up the tent and organizing myself for the day.  By nine o'clock I found the turnoff to Bell Lake and headed down the 20km dirt and gravel road as it wound through the marshes, rocks and lakes of the Canadian Shield. It was my first time into the North-Eastern park of the the park and I slowed to a crawl as I drove deep into the back country. Animals moved across the road and I slowed for or maneuvered around chipmunks, a turtle and a bird that refused to fly away until I honked the car horn at it. My rented kayak was due to be dropped off at 10:30 giving me just enough turn to unload and repack my gear (I was prepared for hiking where everything crammed into or strapped onto a backpack whereas kayaking everything needs to be broken down into small drysaks to fit into the storage compartments in the hull of the boat.) I got everything out of the car and wandered down the trail to the lake. It had warmed up enough that I was down to shorts and a long sleeve but the I shivered in the breeze as it came across the lake.

Not long after I arrived the kayak did as well, and a few minutes later after thanking and waving goodbye to the guys from the outfitters I found myself alone at the lakehead, gear stowed, ready to go.

 (It's at this point that I should remind the reader of one thing.. I've never paddled a kayak before. Never even sat in one..

         ... I've been in canoes before, but probably not for at least a decade.)

I settled myself into the kayak and, with only a moments hesitation, pushed off and slid into the water. I took some tentative stabs at the water with the paddle and was surprised by how much the kayak rocked- and how close the water I was sitting.

I moved slowly, fighting the wind to stay along the shoreline, experimenting with the paddle until I got the hang of it and pointed myself towards a point some 3 kilometers away at the northern edge of the lake. The wind continued to blow across the lake pushing me further from the shore and as I adjusted the position of my legs to get some leverage into the stroke my feet touched the rudder pedals- the rudder!! I had completely forgotten the kayak had a rudder and had therefore, obviously, forgotten to unlash it. I turned and peered behind me down the length of the boat, almost tipping myself into the lake doing so. Not a good start, I thought to myself as I sat drifting 30 meters from where I started. With the waves getting choppier I paddled against the current to get back to the shoreline where I could unlash the rudder and adjust the foot controls. Paddling on one side, canoe style, to fight the current, the kayak tilted dangerously close to the waterline with every stoke.

 (Those of you who have read my past mis-adventures will assume I capsize and drown about this point of the story..

             ... that doesn't happen)

I managed to get to the shore and avoid a spill and get the rudder set, thankful there was no-one around to notice my stupid mistake, and get back into the water. The rudder made a huge difference and I quickly I found myself moving quickly through the water. I passed a private lodge, one of only a handful of privately held properties within the park and found myself alone at last. I explored the lake for a couple of hours, taking time to take in the stunning views from an entirely new perspective. As a hiker I've often gazed across a lake and wondered what was on the other side, or wanted to head off-trail to explore the next ridge or valley but have been restricted by the trails path. Being on the water was freeing- once I got the hang of it. I ducked into little bays and explored rock outcroppings and sat taking pictures, watching the birds swoop and dive around the lake  and generally absorbing all the peaceful vibes of the lake setting. 

I slid up to the shore about three in the afternoon and got out of the kayak, specifically choosing a site on the eastern side of the lake, hopefully facing the setting sun, and started unpacking my gear. I filtered water and made a lunch of soup and naan bread and sat by the lake. I ate and then puttered around camp, setting up my tent and hammock as the sun got warmer and the wind started to calm down enough for me to lay out on a rock and plow through the last thirty or so pages of my book (Neil Cassady's 'The First Third'). As I read animals scurried around the campsite, taking no notice of my prescence as they darted around doing the important things that animals do as I relaxed by the water.

About six o'clock with the lake calm and smooth for the first time I thought I would take the kayak out again in the water. Bereft of wind and the extra weight of all my camping gear, I wanted to see how the boat handled and maybe explore the northern edge of the shoreline before the sun started to set. I sat in the boat but just before pushing off I realized my new camera was in my pocket. I absently leaned towards the  shoreline to place my camera on the smooth rock and before I could even react the boat tilted to the side and dumped me into the cold lake. (Inevitable!!!)

I got the kayak turned right side up and climbed out of the water, then pulled the boat onto the shore and stood dripping wet, but thankfully alone. My camera made a sad whirring noise when I turned it on and water poured from behind the lens.

 Crap

Deciding I had enough self-guided kayak lessons I decided to stick to dry land for the rest of the day and do what I do well. Relax. I lay out in my hammock at the side of the lake and soaked up the sun with a book and a beer (Yes. I violated the can and bottle ban in the park.  I packed them all out and have no remorse!) The rest of the day passed slowly as I hung around camp being- well.. just being alone. I ended the night with a great campfire, and incredible starlit night and fell asleep to the sounds of loons on the lake.

I wanted to get an early start to the trip home so I wasn't disappointed when the heat of the sun woke me the next morning and I started pulling the tent down even before the coffee was ready. Before long I was settling myself in the kayak and pushing off for the return trip down the lake (rudder in place). The wind was calm and the lake smooth which made for a great ride back to the south end of the long lake and I think I made the trip in about an hour.

As I carried the kayak up the short trail at the lakehead I was greeted by a rather large, red-faced and obviously upset man who was yelling at me with a thick German (?) accent. I struggled to comprehend exactly what I may have done or might not have done to upset him but all he kept doing was waving a piece of paper at me and jabbing to his watch. I was puzzled but eventually put the kayak down and got him to let me look at the paper he kept waving at me. The paper showed, and the big yellow school bus in the parking lot substantiatied that his was due to pick a group of kids at 11:30 that were at the lodge and I guess he had been waiting awhile. He thought that I had something to do the group that he was waiting for and seemed disappointed  when he realized I wasn't to blame.

I made soup at the lake for early lunch and filtered water at the lake for coffee for the 150 km stretch before the first Tim Hortons and hit the road. Amazingly not 10 meters down the road a large black bear scrambled across the dirt road in front of my car, my closest ever encounter with a black bear in the wild and I was glad to have a car between us. Two cubs came out of the bush another 100 meters up the road, none of them paying me any attention. Not much further a deer darted into the bushes behind me, appearing in the mirror for just a second. Wishing my camera wasn't completely waterlogged I drove, very slowly, the 20 kms back to the main road and emerged from the park with a new set of experiences that I will build on over the coming months and I definately envision a longer hiking/kayaking trip in the future.

I hit the highway a half hour later and turned on my iPod. A loud punk rawk guitar punching loudly over blasting drums fills the car at the same time the Blackberry catches a signal and emails and messages from work come streaming in. It doesn't take long for me to transition from the zen like peace I feel spending time alone in the woods to the chaotic, hectic days centered around the realities of work and traffic and noise and instant communication. I get a kick out of both facets of life and was both happy with my last minute adventure in the woods and looking forward to getting back to the city.

I looked at the time a short time later and saw it was only just after 10. The mad German schoolbus driver was an hour and a half early. I didn't go back to tell him.