AN ANNUAL HONEYMOON, A CANOE AND SOME TAPE

 AN ANNUAL HONEYMOON, A CANOE AND SOME TAPE 

It was hot. A little too hot to be September but there we were on the sandy banks of the Eagle River dressed to the nines, in the neighbors horse pasture. 

Chairs for our guests weren’t something I thought about. My mind was more preoccupied with the idea of riding my horse in a wedding gown. So our guests stood and watched as my dad rode Angel, a white quarter horse cross who was indeed an Angel, alongside my Norwegian Fjord cross and I.

We met Brent and the rest of the wedding party at the edge of the sand. My father helped me down off the back of my horse and led me down the isle. The sand was hot on my bare feet but I didn’t care. I was just happy that no one made me wear shoes, despite the fact that I insisted on riding my horse. 

Passing me off to Brent my father told him “She’s your problem now”. 

We had decided to get married on the September long weekend. This way we could have a long weekend every year for our anniversary. That long weekend turned into our annual honeymoon. 

Every year we would pack and head out camping. We didn’t go very far at first and in the beginning it was always in search of hot springs. Over the years we started to expand our travel area and eventually even our travel vehicle. 

One year we set out to the East Kootneys and stopped to visit my parents and the property they were looking after.

My dad has always had a knack for salvaging. This particular visit he had a selection of canoes that needed news homes. 

It was dark and choosing a canoe by the light of the stars with the assistance of a small flashlight is no easy task. I chose the one he said was in better shape and we worked together to strap it onto the quad we had on a small trailer behind the motor home. 

That night we enjoyed the company of my parents then set out before the sunrise the next morning. 

We drove for about an hour further into the remote areas of the mountains, searching for the perfect place to be alone and see no one but each other. As soon as it was light enough we pulled over to get a look at the new canoe. 

“It’s full of holes!” Brent yelled from behind the RV before I could even get there. 

“What do you mean it’s full of holes?” I asked him. 

“It’s all cracked and it’s going to leak! There’s no way that this is going to float!” He said discouraged. 

I went back and took a look at the faded green canoe. It was cracked alright. It probably wouldn't float but I’m not much of a quitter. In my work as an equine sport therapist I had recently discovered Gorilla tape and had a lot of success using it to adjust the fit of saddles. It hadn’t let me down yet and I was willing to bet that it would patch the canoe too. 

We decided to take a detour into a town and purchased a roll of the super sticky wonder tape. 

Once we had found a camping spot and got settled in I started to patch the canoe, while Brent proceeded to joke about my sanity and bet me that it would never work. 

With nearly a whole roll used to cover all the cracks, holes and discolored spots we set out to find a lake that would be safe to set sail in a sinking canoe. It took two days but we found a tiny lake that wasn’t too deep or too wide. 

We unloaded the canoe, put on some life jackets and launched the Gorilla taped contraption into the tiny lake. 

The sky was a deep blue and the chill of autumn tinted the leftover warm air of summer. It was warm enough that we wouldn’t freeze when we sank, thank goodness. 

I gripped the homemade paddle that Brent made when we realized we had lost one along the way. It was rough and awkward but did its job to propel us along the surface of the small mountain lake. 

I wasn't concerned about the paddle. I was more concerned about how soon we were going to go under. I watched for leaks. Nothing. We paddled out a little further, as I freaked out not so quietly. 

“We’re fine,” Brent said from the seat behind me. “It’s not going to sink very fast if it hasn't already started to leak.” 

We paddled to the far side of the lake. I thought about whether or not I could swim that far, convinced that Brent was probably right and we should be starting to sink any time now. 

We were now on the far side of the lake, and halfway around. Still no leak. I finally loosened up and started to enjoy gliding over the wood that had sunk below the surface of the cool mountain water. There were little fish swimming in and out of the algae covered wood. 

I soaked up the sun on my face, took in a big breath of fresh mountain air then looked down. I couldn't help but laugh! The Transport Canada Approved and Certified sticker was still in great shape on our beat up old canoe patched with gorilla tape.

Little did I know that Brent would soon be leaving to go work in Kitimat and he would call me one day and ask if I wanted to visit Haida Gwaii for our annual honeymoon. 

Little did I know that Brent would soon be leaving to go work in Kitimat and he would call me one day and ask if I wanted to visit Haida Gwaii for our annual honeymoon

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