Canoe
Aug 14 2014     


The canoe is nicely balanced.
The dog, perfect ballast,
hind legs steady on the front seat
fore-paws up on the deck

eagerly sniffing the air,
her brilliant nose, straining ahead
as if pulling us on.
She is like the bowsprit

on a man-o-war,
carved into omens

of fortune, and luck.

She's been at home, in this boat
since a few months old,
knows well
to step nimbly
stay centred.
In our sleek vessel
sitting lightly on the summer lake,
its leading edge
slipping easily through.

Paddling a canoe
can feel effortless.
When I surrender
to muscle memory,
the angle, the pressure
aligning together
the paddle feathered just so.
When I feel the precision
in fine correction
in my body connecting
the stroke, the blade
the boat.
My weight shifts, and the canoe responds,
so like
my attentive dog
locking eyes with mine.

I admire this simple vessel.
The exquisite marriage
of function to form.
Its minimalism, and human scale.
How easily shouldered
on its shaped wooden thwart.
And how in turn, it conveys
a man and his dog,
a self-contained world
between water, and sky.

We hew close to shore,
matching its ins-and-outs
deftly skirting rocks.
When a submerged log
stops us cold,
the dog
catapulted-off
into the still black drink.
She swims, I paddle,
her noble head
determined eyes.

The fierce constancy
of dogs.
And the companionship
of that old red boat
almost as reliable.

A paean to two of my favourite things. She adopted this position early on, and it works perfectly: it helps keeps her centred, and keeps the boat trimmed just right, making it easy for a solo paddler. And yes, she has been known to catapult-off for sudden unexpected swims. Luckily, she's a fine Labrador retriever: seems immune to cold, and swims beautifully. 

I've always loved canoeing. I don't think it's possible, even for a much better poet than me, to adequately describe for the non-paddler the kinaesthetic pleasure of the so-called Canadian stroke. When I get it working (which, fortunately, is most of the time), it really is almost effortless: the boat feels fast, efficient, well-mannered. Paddling can give the almost hallucinatory pleasure that is common to all the other forms of movement that are similarly repetitive and rhythmic: the same feeling I get when cross-country skiing, in sync; and when swimming well.

I especially love paddling with the pooch: her excitement, her inquisitiveness, and the shared pleasure of being together doing something we both enjoy. Not to mention my gushing pride: in how beautiful she looks, balancing up-front like that; and in how well-behaved she is, in so unnatural a place for a dog.