It was a dark and stormy night – no, really, it was. We were shivering inside a fragile, storm-tossed tent on a lonely, wave-licked island in the middle of a large, dark lake, deep in the Canadian forest. (I know, enough of the hyperbole, already!)
For a girl from a small Welsh island, everything in Canada seemed larger than life. As my boyfriend and I finally managed to settle in that tent, I considered some unexpected realities of my new life in this huge country.
Such as: Canadian mosquitoes are as big as birds. OK, this may be a slight exaggeration, but not by much. My limited British knowledge of those tiny gnats called midges had not even vaguely prepared me for their Canadian skin-chomping cousins. That Canadian spring afternoon – when we erroneously decided it would be fun to go for a canoe trip and camp overnight – was a mosquito’s idea of heaven: damp, hot and humid.
We had to first get to the lake, which meant a portage through the bush (misleading Canadian term for near-impenetrable forest) to the water. That meant tipping the canoe upside down so we could carry it over our heads along a root-tangled, muddy track. Preparations included covering all exposed skin, tying my jacket hood as tightly around my face as possible, pulling up my socks and closing my eyes. Did I mention mosquitoes? That much-touted mosquito repellent only attracted the bugs, who seem to drink it as an appetiser
Luckily, unlike birds, mosquitoes don’t fly too far out on the lake. A few minutes after launching the canoe into the water I could crank open my eyes and appreciate the lake’s wonders, mosquito-free.
Such as: Canadian skies are huge. Especially yellow-tinged ones carrying dark purple thunderclouds and viewed from a tiny canoe on a large amount of increasingly turbulent water. We spied a small rocky island and paddled madly against the rising wind to get to the sandy shore, the ominous sky pursuing us every dip of the paddles.
On dry (for now) land, we hurriedly checked supplies. Tent – check. Wood – dead wood and twigs collected – check. Storm almost on top of us – check. Having fun yet – come back later.
Such as: Canadian raindrops are really ice cubes. They hurt, these raincubes, as they bounce on fragile human skin. Even the trees bow down in total abjection. I cowered in the small tent opening (no luxury six-man accommodation, this), watching the hard rain falling and visualising a cold, damp night. No comforting hot food, no blazing fire to keep warm (and keep bears and other assorted Canadian wildlife – from smelly skunks to nimble-fingered raccoons – at bay), and no fun! But then I found that Canadian raindrops bounce off Canadian wood…
Such as: Canadian trees are magic. Yes, there are a lot of trees in Canada. And they burn very well. And they seem to manage to do so in the middle of a raging thunderstorm. My skilled partner designed an edifice – there’s no other word for his amazingly complex fire – of sticks, moss and fire starter, then crowned it with a veritable pyramid of large logs. I thought it was a bit OTT at first. Still, when the first raindrops struck, they bounced imperviously away… bring on that marvellous Canadian wood!
Such as: Canadian guitars sound better in the bush. Rolling thunder, sharp twangs of lightning, the plops of rain and the sizzle of the occasionally damp piece of wood – orchestral background to the Morrison song strummed on that amazing guitar that managed to avoid being warped by all the surrounding damp. Simple songs, Canadian tunes – all with that natural accompaniment. Wondrous, magical music.
Such as: Canadian creeks can be fun places to be up
