“The elder sits in her cedar canoe at the front, singing her paddle song, praying for us all. The weary paddler resting is still ballast. And there is always a time when the crew needs a joke, some remark, or even silence to keep going.”
– Rule no.4 of The Ten Rules of the Canoe
It was just before midnight when I crawled out of my tent to relieve myself and saw the crescent shaped, orange-tinged harvest moon. Low in the sky, the shimmering reflection on the river was the same pumpkin shade as the celestial orb above. I was desperate to capture this image but after I had located my camera – and failed to put on a headlamp – it was too dark to adjust the settings. Disappointed at not being able to record the scene, I shook the sand from my feet and climbed back into my sleeping bag. At least I had a snapshot of the tableau imprinted on my memory. Just then, the evening accompaniment of cicadas and tree frogs just behind our tent restarted with vigour. I drifted off to the lullaby of an amphibian chorus.
Sleep came easily after a day of paddling on the Mississippi River. Already smitten by its wild beauty and vast reach, I sensed the special energy that came from being on swirling water among eddies, backwaters and bayous, the breeze ruffling my hair. But, make no mistake, although the rhythm and repetition of paddling is intoxicating, it is also exhausting.
Another unexpected twist of nature had taken place earlier that day when three of us went exploring. After bringing the canoe alongside
