Paddle Season

By Bryan Martin

Family paddle on the harbour. Photo: Lanna Campbell

As someone who has grown up on the East Coast, I was always told that summers are short, which is what makes them so special.  Summer, with its extended daylight hours can also be a time where people try to jam in as much as possible before shifting back to the chilly seasons once again.  In our household, summer activities include the necessary beach days, cycle trips to the local ice cream shop, lazy shoreline walks with a senior dog, and the ever-present chores and responsibilities of working parents.  One of the beauties of a long summer day is that you can always try to get up a little earlier, catching the first rays of sunlight as you walk across the dewy grass, paddle in hand. You may still be bleary eyed while rounding the last corner as you push your way through the trees, but you are excitedly hoping to see water with a glass-like appearance. Those glassy days are known as “paddle mornings” in our house. Once the weather warms, we practically fight to determine who goes out and who stays home while waiting for littles kids to wake up.

I have had a lifelong relationship with paddling. Growing up in northern New Brunswick I was never far from a creek, river, or the ocean. It was the summers spent with family on lakes in Quebec that sparked my passion. Extended family members, elderly friends, and random neighbours taught me all I needed to know to safely get from one fishing spot to another.  Many of the bodies of water on the chain of lakes had unofficial no-motor policies.  The only options left were to paddle a canoe, row an unwieldly dory, or swim. As a skinny little kid, I definitely was not swimming with a fishing pole in hand and rowing would result in my spinning in circles, so paddling it was. I still remember the blisters, sore shoulders, and frustration as the wind would send you backwards if you were unlucky enough to get caught in a sudden summer storm, soaking you with warm summer rain before you knew what hit you.  Despite the occasional frustration, I learned to take these challenges one stroke at a time.  I learned to paddle rivers and navigate rapids.  I learned the hard way of how to properly store a sleeping bag so that it didn’t get wet and how to dry it when I inevitably did a poor job at packing.  I learned that no matter how light your canoe was, your gear probably weighed even more and suddenly bringing a guitar didn’t seem like such a great idea when doubling back for the third time at the portage.

Looking back at these experiences from the ages of 6 to 26, I learned a lot about resilience, confidence, teamwork, and how to observe nature and read the water and sky. There were countless teachings which I continue to bring into other aspects of my life.   I gained the confidence to keep going when faced with adversity and the resilience to push through, I learned respect and patience so not to splash or tip your co-worker out of the boat simply because they were not pulling their weight.

I never realized that I had been hovering over entire ecosystems until I took my paddling into the ocean. I don’t know if it was because the lake waters were dark and the rivers roiling, or simply that I was young and not paying attention, but I paid minimal attention to what was below me except for the odd salmon or loon that would dart by. When my love of paddling and love of being near the ocean collided, sparks flew.  Coincidently, CaNOE, the Canadian Network for Ocean Education, helped solidify that initial interest in discovering what was below the waves into something that has blossomed into a lifelong passion.  Stand up paddling brought me the opportunity to safely move into, and even beyond, the freshwater-ocean continuum.  It’s where I began to experience in earnest the seven principles of ocean literacy and I started getting involved in bringing that knowledge to those around me (to learn more on the 7 principles look here).  Although stand up paddle boarding has been around for hundreds if not thousands of years in some form or another, it certainly took its sweet time getting to my part of the world!  I had been around kayaks for years but had never felt comfortable in their confines.  But standing up while paddling, that brought me right back to fooling around as kid and standing up and “racing” on the gunwales of the sturdiest of canoes. The first time I stepped on a stand up paddle board (SUP), I was hooked. It was simply an old windsurf board, and I was horribly bent over with a tall canoe paddle, but the high vantage point allowed me to spot a beaver silently cruise right under the board and into its hut.  With more appropriate gear, I gained the confidence to slowly venture into bays and open water, which later led to gliding past seaweed and watching schools of capelin part and close around my board in places I now hold dearly.  Paddling now allows me to glide over crystal clear water and watch jellyfish in the currents or see starfish hide in the eelgrass. I feel privileged and count myself incredibly lucky to live near the water, to paddle for recreation, exploration, or fitness. The common denominator throughout the decades has always been the paddle.  It did not matter if it was a hand-crafted old wooden paddle or a high-tech, bent shaft, carbon fiber blade. They all allowed me to move forward with whatever craft I could access at the time to truly enjoy the medium over which I would float.

Wife gliding in to our launch spot. Photo: B. Martin

Growing up, I did not grasp the cultural importance of canoes, and my family did not seem to either.  Although I had heard stories of adventurers, I only saw canoes as a path to accessing nature. It was not until I had the chance to meet with canoe builders many years later that I realized the importance of the humble craft, here and in so many Indigenous cultures around the world. From the gwitn right here in Mi’kma’ki to the Va’a in many parts of Polynesia, these crafts were essential to life since time immemorial.  For travel, hunting, fishing, accessing new lands, and yes, even for recreation.  Even whittling it down to a single word “canoe” does these crafts disservice as there were a vast number of different types of vessels each designed for a specific purpose.  They varied from short and nimble singlehanded vessels designed for small rivers and creeks to the massive humpback canoe, at upwards of 28 feet (8.5 m) used to travel and hunt over saltwater.  So adept with their skills in these crafts, that the Mi’kmaq could travel from southwestern Nova Scotia, up the Bay of Fundy, and overland/ up rivers to PEI faster than the early sailing ships could simply by cruising the infamous tides of the Bay of Fundy.  To navigate such treacherous currents in a birchbark gwitn would have taken an incredible amount of knowledge, skill, and experience.  The cultural significance of these vessels is hard to fathom.  Thankfully, the communities who have relied on them for thousands of years are always eager to share their stories. As a novice, I can only wish to one day grasp the significance of these vessels and hope to one day meet more builders and travelers to learn about the local nuances of these highly localized and specialized crafts.

Birch bark gwitn crafted by Junior Paul and Todd Labrador. Photo: B. Martin

As I continue with my own personal journey, I have come to realize that it is time to bring back the humble canoe and introduce my growing girls to the teachings that these crafts can provide. To help these beautiful young minds to unplug, to learn where the rocks are before seeing them, and how to patch a hole when you hit it anyway. It is true that the way children are raised today is different than how it was done just a few decades ago but the lessons that can be gained are more than simple nostalgia. Paddling can be a metaphor for so many of life’s challenges and the beauty that can only be revealed by being challenged.  Together we can help instill qualities of respect, appreciation, and a love for these hidden underwater ecosystems. So regardless of the craft you chose, get out there and learn about your local waters, whether fresh or salt, and strive to understand how you are intrinsically connected with it.  If you can – grab a friend, a neighbor, or someone who may not otherwise have access to the water and pass on some of that love and knowledge.

Paddle on my friends.

Family canoe trip circa 1987. My love for paddling could only grow from here! I have this photo pinned by my desk to remind me of how bringing kids in the outdoors builds resilience and a is a necessary step for a lifelong relationship with nature. Photo: Marie-Reine Poirier  

About the Author: Bryan Martin grew up near the Baie des Chaleur in northern New Brunswick and, despite living, studying, or working in all four Atlantic Provinces, has never strayed far from the ocean. Being an outright ocean fanatic, you will often find him swimming, paddling, or advocating for the ocean. Bryan loves to connect with people about the sea, currently works as a climate change policy advisor, and sits on the CaNOE board of directors. He currently lives within a stones throw from the harbour in Epekwitk/PEI with his wife, two young girls, and ‘little’ black lab.

Bryan with Daughters Annie and Norah