by: John P. Nelson
5/1/2005

As a boy, my father and I spent late nights one summer making a fiberglass canoe from one of those mail order kits. From the description in the magazine it seemed as if it would have been an easy task. After all, how hard would it be to glue two ends together? One night led into the next. All day long I would be eager for that moment when my dad would come home. I was like a young puppy scratching at the door wanting out. My dad on the other hand, likely thought about how comfortable his bed was going to feel after a long day. But instead of laying down for rest, he took off his clergy shirt and changed into his canoe work clothes. I as the assistant would race for more acetone and rags to clean up our over usage of fiberglass resin.

Finally it was done, and it was ready for its maiden voyage. It seemed to weigh more than water, which caused it to be both cumbersome and an adventure simply to get it to the water. Once in the water, you didn't want to waste the opportunity. To me it was a great joy and hard work to paddle the canoe the length of a lake and back. I would often suggest for family outings that we go canoeing, which in the very least was an exercise in weight-lifting before even reaching the water.

One vacation we went to northern Wisconsin. Rather than canoeing in a lake, racing the loons, we came up with a 'loonie' idea. Let's take the canoe that is made for lakes down a river. Let's complicate matters and share this experience with my dad, two brothers, and my sister and me. In true fashion to the planner I ended up becoming, I brought a roll of electrical tape "just in case". We waved good-bye to our mom and youngest brother and set out on this trip that would require less paddling as we traveled down a scenic river.

Then we saw it. Our first great challenge of taking a canoe built for lakes down a river. My oldest brother said, "I can hear rapids." Then I added, "I can see the rapids -- Head to shore --Paddle to shore!" My dad was convinced that canoeing on a river was going to be easier, so he instructed us to flow between two rocks. Granted the river was only about two feet deep, we were still out of our league. This was like the minor league and we were playing back yard ball. We scraped through the first challenge. And just as we celebrated that victory, we got stuck on a rock and the canoe was reversing itself in the water. My brave older brother decided he would get out and push the canoe. As he stepped out, the canoe fractured itself, creating a huge 20 inch crevice on the side of the canoe. Anything dry was wet, my sister was screaming, and I grabbed my electrical tape and said we could fix it.

Fix it we did, and like champion explorers decided to keep going, trusting that we had seen the worst of what was to come. We were off in my 16 foot canoe, with a major scrape on the bottom, and black electrical tape holding the tattered yellow canoe together. My brother heralded the bad news, "three sets of rapids ahead!" With that, wisdom as sharp as a hot knife cutting through butter, my dad coached us what to do. "Paddle as hard as you can to shore!" We hit the rocks of shore before being pulled down a vacuum of water. As we got out on shore, the rock we were rested on punctured through the bottom and cracked the hull in another place.

My yellow craft which once stood proud as a symbol of a lake canoe was pulled ashore onto a farmer's field. With the might of Sampson we pulled the canoe across a rock laden field until we reached a road. Pulling the canoe created the most damage. At least we had avoided the bulls in the field.

My dad then understood that the canoe was built for lakes. Still determined to avoid paddling, he bought a kit to attach a mast and turn the bandaged and re-fiberglassed canoe into a sailboat. When this new project was complete, talk about titanic weight, it was heavy.