Day 28???? Somewhere in the mid- North Saskatchewan Steele: 0930 hrs left our second-best moorage and headed into a clear, bright and at times, hot prairie day on the river. Not a cloud in sight, my morale soared, for the cloudless big sky is what I love most. J sails, then rows and we are caught twice on sand bars – at one place where the river is a kilometre wide J decides to motor but has to measure oil and gasoline so I advise him to do this on shore. He pulls in to the riverbank and fills the tank and we motor off. The river continues to beguile with her beauty after beauty—I call her Our Lady the North Saskatchewan—hedgerows of sunflowers, the beginnings of coulees. In the morning we see a mother bear and two cubs, beavers with chocolate smudged faces, dozens of pelicans, once at least 60 of them, hundreds of Canada geese and always, above, the wide prairie sky. J motors for the afternoon and I rest, sleep, do laundry, wash my hair. J later jumps in the river and bathes. We run aground a few more times and at 18:30 we moor next to a steep hill which J climbs while I make carbonara. He returns and I have made a gangplank from a 2 by 4. We eat dinner and have a wee dram of Jura. J does dishes and instead of tidying the cabin as I normally do I read poetry to him. Robert Frost’s ‘Fire and Ice’ and ‘Stopping by the Woods on a Winter’s Night’ and then J says, Hey I thought the deal was I do the dishes while you make the bunk ready, to which I reply Ah but I’m tending to our souls. He looks underwhelmed. Later, lying in bed, the wretched mast pole separating our upper torsos (though our bottom halves are spoonable), J says, Having a poet as a partner is awesome, but having a poet crew mate is a bit of a challenge. Especially a dyspraxic poet, I add. When I ask him to articulate, he says, Well, when I sail on my big boat, I like to let the best sailor take over and I tinker, and on this boat I basically have to do it all. I concur. I know nothing of sailing or practicalities, but I have been trying hard to learn slowly. Today, going under a bridge I managed to crawl forward along the top of the cabin and unsnap the brass snap shackle (that J bought for me, knowing my awkward hands) and I was able to let down the mast and clear the bridge (to Lloydminster) with no problem. In fact, though we could probably have cleared the bridge safely, J is so dependent upon his Windex that he
One thing positive about the bottom of the river is that the gravel bars which plagued us and did so much damage to Miss Moose ’s hull, have given way (for the last few days, or since we hit the border) to sand bars. They are easier on the feet, and sand gives way to the hull so if one pushes slowly and steadily, the boat will plough through it forward, the sand (a cliché, I know) is shifting and sand bars are everywhere. For the last two days the wind has been on the nose. Today it was very strong, 10-20 knots, this forced us to motor, and it is a veritable labyrinth of sand bars. It’s hard to describe or understand how the water moves from side to side in the channel which is probably a kilometre wide in spots. One is constantly following the blue/green deep water as opposed to the brown/shallow water and trying to stay in the main channel. You may be in nice, deep water with a wide channel, and there is a chain of islands with shallow channels between them, each one too shallow to navigate, but each one driving the channel you are in, and before you know it the main channel is on the other side of some huge sandbar and you’re stuck high and dry in some back channel. Living and learning when to get while the going is good. Today our outboard ran out of gas and I had the predicament of having 10 litres of gas but only mix oil for 5 litres and mixing it up, which was a bit daunting because I had thought we should have this for a reserve in case of emergency, but with the strong head wind, rowing into it was futile. When a boat came down the river S waved them down and they turned out to be two biologists working for Husky oil overseeing a pipeline crossing of the river. They were on their way to get gas and they said they’d be happy to pick us up some. So we gave them two gas cans, some cash, S asked them if there was a possibility to get a bottle of wine that would be swell, and off they went. I rowed into this crazy wind for about 2 hours. One of the oars kept cracking which was very unnerving. A note about rowing into a heavy headwind. Not only is it hard to pull, that would seem obvious, but when the oars are out of the water the wind pushes on them and makes the backstroke an effort as well. I noticed when we went through Edmonton that the rowing club boats (proper rowing sculls) turned their oars flat on the backstroke. A skill that I have yet to develop.
is loathe to risk damaging it again as he did when he took the first bridge at Rocky Mt. House. The bridge I told him was too low but that he tried to motor up to it to reccie and Miss Moose was pushed into the low beams by the strength of the river current. We are so different. He trades in muscle, ability and logistics while I work in the salt mines of the soul, as I tell him jokingly. He says to me that I see things on the river that he probably would not. His is an existential experience of the river and mine is emotional. The coyotes start up at dusk and the big prairie sun, the only one we’ve had to date so full and hot, drops copper into the thicket of cotton wood and wolf willow on the other bank of the river. In the middle of the night I awaken, cannot sleep, fight worry, I am sticky with sweat, the Madras quilt is soaked with our bodies and breath and the sheet is crumbly with sage, cookie crumbs and wild sunflowers – J is so good, he doesn’t grumble about this though he does note their presence. I pull up my sleeping bag, knowing it is designed for outdoors and the damp, unlike the Madras quilt, and roll into it and fall back asleep. Moorage: the middle of the North Saskatchewan River Dinner: pasta and vegetables and grated cheese Woke up soaking from the condensation inside the boat. Actually the sound of dripping onto my blanket is what woke me. S slept very poorly because of the dampness which was the result of us putting a non-breathable blanket over the companionway and having no other ventilation. The morning was clear but damp, as the mornings always are on the river. Heavy dew is an understatement. I put my rain gear on first off even when the sun is shining, so that I can sit down and not start out the day with a wet ass. When we were at Ron’s outboard emporium in St. Paul, one of the many good old boys to drop by, told me how the river valley was just going to keep getting wider, and the water was going to keep getting shallower as we got into Saskatchewan, and I have to say that this has been true. Day 29 Coords? Hilberry:
53 on site review 49 :: shorelines
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