A Widerness Adventure

How I loved camping as a kid,the rougher,the better.Now,of course,I go nowhere without modern plumbing,comfortable beds and a handy mall,close by.As a ten year old tom boy,I didn't care if I was clean behind the ears or if my clothes looked like they had been slept in.They had.As for plumbing,no problem if there was a lake or stream close by and some bushes to crouch behind.I communed with nature,talked to the animals and got filthy.
One of our favorite places for a camping holiday was Rock Lake,in Algonquin Park,a huge widlife reserve in Ontario.It was a beautiful lake surrounded by hills and tall pine trees.The campground was a large grassy field with scattered trees and no amenities but two old outhouses,which my mother and aunt scrubbed with bleach every day.Back then,there were very few campers there.I liked it that way.I took a canoe out on the lake every day,no supervision,no life jacket.What were my parents thinking?I thought the freedom was heavenly.
The rangers used to check on us regularly.There were a lot of bears,wolves,lynx,cougers and stags in the area,all potentially dangerous.I guess the 'smokeys'(as we called them) just wanted to count heads.
One old ranger used to come every evening to check on the safety of our campfires.He would often stay for an alcoholic beverage and tell us stories of people lost in the forest,others attacked by bears,always horrific.I loved the stories.
One very hot day,I was canoeing and looking for a shady spot to rest,before paddling home.I noticed a small inlet of some kind and decided to investigate.It turned out to be the mouth of a fairly wide stream, a perfect place to explore.I paddled up the stream into the trees and the cool shade of the woods.It was
beautiful and green and dappled with sunlight in the forest and the steam continued until it disappeared around a bend.I paddled on,an intrepid explorer.I noticed the stream was narrowing.
As I rounded the bend,the canoe struck something.It was a tree root.I extricated myself quite skillfully,I thought.Then I glanced up to see a large black bear,blocking the stream,about fifteen feet in front of me.
I froze.If a bear could look startled,he did.His face was wet.Water was dripping off his snout.He didn't move. Every terrifying tale I had heard around the campfire flitted through my mind.I felt my bowels loosen. I wanted to shout for my dad.It felt like my heart had jumped into my throat.I could feel it pounding.
I couldn't breathe.I could not form a coherent thought.Then,the bear moved and instinct kicked in.
Very slowly and carefully I placed my paddle into the water without making a splash.I levered the canoe backward just a little.I saw no agression,so I moved it a little more.He made a huffing sound.I stopped and sat perfectly still.He was still watching.
He slewed his head to one side and seemed to be looking at something else.I took the opportunity to move backwards again and again and once more.I was now around the bend,thankfully without catching that root. I couldn't hear anything,so I started back paddling,as softly as I could,then faster and faster till I got a fair distance from the bend,then switched seats to face forward.I paddled like a bat out of hell until I broke from the trees into the sunlight.

I didn't feel safe until I got out into the middle of the lake.I headed for home and the tears started to flow and I started to tremble.I got back to camp,ran to our tent, threw myself onto my cot and cried my heart out.My parents were astounded when they heard and forbade me,somewhat too late,to go out in the canoe again.I didn't,at least for the rest of that holiday.When we came back the next year, I had become one of the stories,the old'smokey'told around the campfires.