Aluminum Hatch, Pt. 1

Canoeists. You know the type.

I'm not talking about the skilled paddlers who steer their craft as confidently as the rest of us steer cars, and who negotiate rapids and deadfalls as gracefully as Michelle Kwan navigates a rink.

I mean the once or twice a year crowd, the ones who bob haplessly from obstacle to obstacle, alternately laughing and shrieking. The ones who travel in packs of at least three or four boats, carrying on shouted, profane conversations the length of the river. Sometimes their gear is mainly beer, and they leave a trail of cans in the river to prove it. To fishermen, their approach means either a pool ruined by splashy paddling or some frantic wading to get out of their path. When these yahoos approach, we say that the "Aluminum Hatch" has begun.

I often see them when fishing during the summer. Last week I was them, sort of.

We planned a couple of days of canoeing on our trip to give Kristine's hip a rest from hiking (though actually it didn't seem to bother her, which is a good sign). On Thursday and Friday, we canoed on the Manistee near Grayling, running a total of 55 river miles. I picked the Manistee since I knew it to be a gentle river with few of the swift and shallow runs you might find on the upper Au Sable.

Kristine and I have done some canoeing before, though our history with this sport is a bit chequered. We took our first canoe trip together during a weekend getaway while I was in graduate school. I myself hadn't canoed since I was 12, and had only done so before on a couple of father and son trips in the boy scouts. What I remember mainly from those is my father yelling at me to sit up straight and stop tipping the canoe to one side. Also seeing enormous trout in the river, and having no rod at hand. My father had done all the steering. I paddled, but for all practical purposes was simply along for the ride. Despite that, Kristine and I did fine. We got the canoe turned bass-ackwards a couple of times, but made it through without getting wet. It helped that the river (the Muskegon in Clare co.) was gentle and wide open.

A few years later, we took a day trip on the middle branch of the Ontonogan below Watersmeet. We were informed there were a few rapids, but nothing to worry about. We did in fact worry a little when we saw them, but shot them with little difficulty, the open slots being rather obvious, though going into each one gave us each some trepidation. Unfortunately we did careen into the alders along that narrow river several times, leaving Kristine with a few scratches. We had a few other minor collisions with some brush, and our steering difficulties, combined with the stresses of our first brush with whitewater, caused some frayed nerves. More to the point, I thought we were going to be divorced by the time we took out.

Later, we took a canoeing class from the local parks department. Shortly after that we canoed on an outing with Kristine's company. We put our new skills to good use, and navigated a narrow, brushy river easily. The same summer, we took a float on the Au Sable below Mio one day that and had no problems. As if you could on a very wide, open river with moderate current. I was getting pretty confident about our paddling; prematurely, as our trip last week showed.

Last Thursday the canoe livery shuttle dropped us off at Cameron Bridge Road on the upper Manistee. The river is about thirty feet wide there, with logs protruding frequently from the bank. These make great trout cover, but form a tricky maze for novice paddlers. We were no more than half a mile down the river before we'd slammed into the side of several of these, or found ourselves dragging beneath rough, low-hanging cedar limbs. All my steering moves seemed to drive us away from where we wanted to go. In less than half an hour, my mood had gone from cheerful anticipation to numb dread. It was going to be a long, long two days, I thought.

Tags: Outdoors; Rivers; Canoeing