My Canoe Trip

The white van rolls up and down the narrow road, corn fields and animal pastures whiz by. The radio blares a pop song and we sing along. Its July 2010, in the humid, hot forest of southern Ohio and the AC is busted. But I don’t mind, even though I’m squished knee-to-knee in the sticky leather back seat with one girl I’ve known forever and two others I met three days ago. Cricket sits in front driving the van, grumbling about the song on the radio. Don’t worry; Cricket isn’t her real name. At Camp Wakatomika all the counselors go by nicknames. For instance, Flounder is riding shotgun adjusting her ponytail, and Panders and Frappe are following in a car.

Three days ago I checked in at Camp Wakatomika, a 260-acre woodland full of gravel roads, secret paths and four different camp units. Each unit houses a different age group. Claire, Grace, Erica and I are staying in Tall Timbers, the oldest age unit and the smallest. There are only four of us, along with our counselors Panders and Flounder. Frappe is a lifeguard and Cricket is a self-proclaimed canoeing expert, both along for the ride.

It’s my third day out of the five I will spend here. Early this morning we packed up our things and headed off to the much-anticipated canoe trip. We’ve been super excited for the trip ever since we found out about it, from doing tip tests in the pool in a canoe filled with Styrofoam (that’s a whole other story) on Day One, to hiking up the legendary Deathwish Hill to a small pond to practice strokes and paddling on Day Two, finally its Day Three and time for the real thing.

We pull up to a dusty parking lot in front of a sandy beach and barnacle-covered pier. We spend about twenty minutes unpacking, lifejackets, throw bags and waterproof lunch bags. In rehearsed teamwork, we complete the delicate task of unloading the canoes from the trailer. After doing a safety check, we climb in, two to a canoe, and push off the pier and out into the water.

I’m in the front of the canoe, Claire is in the back. Our crisp strokes create small plunks in the water as our canoe glides forward. Next to us, Grace and Erica share their canoe, Frappe and Cricket and Flounder and Panders paddle up ahead.

The feeling is almost spiritual. The water extends about a thousand feet on either side of us, until it finally meets with the heavily wooded coast that lines either side of the wide, watery reservoir. On the left-hand coast, we catch sight of a crane fishing for lunch. The splash of our paddles soon falls into a rhythmic beat. The sun warms the back of my neck, and the occasional cool breeze sends the puffy white clouds skimming across the sky. We’re all silent, taking in the peaceful scenery. After what seems only a moment, Flounder says that we’ve paddled our canoes three miles.

My arms are starting to hurt as we paddle up into what Cricket calls “her secret tunnel.” It’s a cement tunnel, halfway filled with water, cutting through a thin sort of peninsula that extends part way into the reservoir. Paddling our canoes, their bows cut through the water into the tunnel. The tunnel is lined with faded graffiti, and tall curling vines that are creeping up its walls. I breathe in the tunnel air, it smells like wet leaves and mud puddles. We’re only in the tunnel for around thirty seconds before we are carried into the sunshine again into a boggy marsh.

The marsh’s water is still, not moving and undulating like on the other side of the tunnel. Small blobs of algae line the sides. Dead trees stick up out of the water, I feel like the tunnel has carried me into a different world. The marsh isn’t what most people would call beautiful, but I find it ancient and quiet, like a beautiful that defies the stereotype.

In the marsh, we tie all three canoes together with safety rope and pull our paddles in. We sit laughing and talking as we munch on peanut butter and jellies and stale Doritos. Real crickets chirp and swamp frogs croak, the slimy marsh moss glints in the sunshine. Frappe complains about how her arms will hurt on the paddle back, and Cricket thumbs her iPod to show us “real music.” I think in my head, I want to remember this forever.