Musings: The Yellow Canoe

Summertime has finally arrived in Victoria and with it pilgrimages to lakes around B.C. and frolicking in the sunshine. And in my opinion, a lake is not complete without a canoe.

Growing up in Whistler on the edge of Alpha Lake near Creekside, I spent a lot of time in, on, or near the water. We had a 'private dock' where my sisters and I would launch ourselves off of, I would stand at the edge of the dock and fish with my Dad, or we would just lie on the dock and enjoy the view of Whistler Mountain and it's snowy glaciers. And invariably, we would canoe. We were the proud owners of a giant 300 pound (I'm sure of this) canoe which was the color of a classic yellow Post It Note. This canoe drifted along the River of Golden Dreams. It was the main character in many a portage from Alpha to Nita to Alta Lakes with my hippie parents and their hippie friends and us hippie kids. I spent most of my formative years floating around in it, swaddled in a bright orange life jacket that was always too big for me. And, I'll admit this now, my sisters and my parents and our dog Buffy all piled into the yellow canoe for a photo shoot for the cover of The Vancouver Sun at one time.

Anyways, one of my favorite and ever lasting memories of this canoe was the night Dad and I went out in it at night to watch the full moon rise. Now, I want to say this happened in November because I remember it being cold, and at the time it seemed kind of like a weird idea Dad would have randomly. Like "hey, it's cold out. You know what would be neat? If we went and sat in the canoe on the lake. Yes, this sounds like a great idea. Everyone will think I'm a genius."

Well, not everyone was in on this idea except for me. (This was also the case for the "let's sleep in the igloo overnight" idea.) So it could have been November but I also remember mosquitoes, but that could be poetic licensing. So off Dad and I went in the dark, bundled, down the trail and to the dock. We hopped in the canoe and paddled out a ways so we could get a nice clear view of the moon rising over the tip of Whistler. It was going to be amazing.

We waited. And waited. I started to say something along the lines of "well maybe we can go in now for hot chocolate" or "Dad, I can't feel my fingers" and Dad would respond "well let's just wait a few more minutes, the moon was supposed to rise at such and such a time. It was supposed to be amazing"

And it was amazing, except we didn't get to see it because the moon rose, oh yes indeed it did. However it rose just behind the peak and then continued to dip along the edge and behind the mountain staying out of sight. So if we had climbed to the top of the mountain we would have seen a moon that was full. However, we were on a lake and it was cold and maybe there were mosquitoes. We paddled back to shore and headed home. Luckily I was raised with a fantastic sense of humour and to this day whenever Dad mentions a full moon (no matter where we are) I shout out "QUICK GRAB THE CANOE!!!!" and we launch into the re-telling of the story of the yellow canoe and the invisible moon.

I went home last month for a visit and there was the yellow canoe resting happily on the side of the house. It has seen better days. It's patched up and scratched and fiberglassed and the edges are chipped but it's still yellow. Dad says all it needs is a little love and a fresh coat of paint and it'll be good as new. It shall live to float another day. And I think it's secretly still waiting for that full moon.