Dorothy McLaughlin

      The spring of ’97 was a very late spring and a very poor spring for bear food. A young black bear and two older bears were forced to wander the Pukaskwa hiking trails searching for people food. The young bear came near a beach where our group of seven women was enjoying the beauty of land, lake, sky and lunch. As it moved through the forest it made little sounds heard only by a woman who quickly left the bush and reported suspicious noises. There are many kinds of forest sound, but we soon departed. After a few more hours of gentle waves and warming sun, we found a spacious campsite connected with the hiking trail and "developed" with prepared tent sites, a privy, and a large metal box plus chain and clasp.

      Late that evening, the young bear arrived, found that no food had been left in its box, and so approached the tent sites. The group of women suddenly became very rowdy, rushing about with blowing of whistles, hostile shouts, and waving of paddles. The young bear retreated while we locked up our food packs and then serenaded us with prolonged rhythmic shaking of metal doors. Back at the tents, we built a fire and arranged shifts for a night watch. The young bear slumbered through the night and returned in time to see the people food departing for the next site. This site also had level tent spaces and two privies – one for people, one for wood for a porcupine, and a bear pole.

      The young bear ambled along the hiking trail and arrived the next morning, too early for breakfast, and was greeted by loud shouts. For our protection, we had left the tents open; the bear found the first tent rather cramped so it turned to the bear pole to demonstrate great skill and speed in tree climbing. Chew. Crash. Chomp. Gone was the Triple Sec. The bear withdrew a short distance to give undisturbed attention to a large bag of gorp while our intrepid leader tossed back the pack and other items, to one cautionary growl. (The woman who regained her heart medicine was especially pleased.) Another hasty departure was followed by a visit to an outstanding rock gallery and a late breakfast.

      The next campsites were chosen for their undeveloped nature and separation from the hiking trail. Cooking by stove avoided giving smoke signals. Beach tenting, however, became damp when Lake Superior’s winds tilted the waters towards the west shore. Tent sites were fewer and uneven, but there were no bears.

      On the return towards Hattie Cove, we returned to a developed site, which previously had been bear-free. Alas, the bear telegraph was working. A more experienced and more determined older bear explored a concealed tent while we dined. It tasted an empty T-shirt, emptied a tasty air mattress, and left a trail of clothing leading into the forest. The bathing suit modestly taken deep into the woods was too small to try on. The bear returned to the tent but tripped over a rope, and the "crack" of the pole alerted the defense. Hide-and-seek began. Retreat. Approach from another direction. Part of the crew hustled the food to the bear box while the others kept track of the visitor. Then it was back to thumping noises alternating with a major digging operation, but the box withstood. We surrounded the tents with a trip line with pot and pan alarms. As dark approached, the frustrated bear snatched a spray skirt from a nearby kayak, dragged it along the beach, looked back for the reaction, and hid it in the trees. On its return, a frustrated person made great noise, became very tall with a waving kayak paddle and began barking. The bear turned and ran. In the darkness of the night a banging of pots was followed by a sheepish "Sorry, it’s just me." The morning’s hasty departure was somewhat delayed by a bear again working on the food box. A second distant site, totally unoccupied, drew the bear to a quick inspection while we made our hasty departure. It kindly returned to see us off.

      The other older bear misunderstood the telegraph, and after a brief pause, continued walking the rocky shore in the opposite direction. Ha!

      There had been no reports of bothersome bears before the start of our trip in the last week of June. A large bear had supervised the Park wardens during site maintenance, but had caused no trouble. On our return, we were told of two hikers who had had to stand and watch their packs being torn apart, while recent published reports by hikers had not included bear visits. The trip had been run by a commercial tripper who had had no problems in the past, and it appeared that the major difference was the late winter making it very difficult for bears to find food. These black bears typically were not threatening toward people and would back off from a noisy group, but their persistence was very tiring. It is worth noting that they did not appear at any of the little-used, undeveloped sites.

      Lake Superior is noted for giving paddlers time for contemplation and exploration while waiting for calmer waters. On the first day we explored Hattie Cove while the waves crashed. On the last day, carefully away from the hiking trails but a short distance from the Park office, we were again stopped and became overdue. The weather radio included reports specifically for Pukaskwa but the waves did not subside in the evening as predicted. We moved out to an island for a close view, sitting on the open rock face of a small cove, colourful with lifejackets and rain gear. Back at Hattie Cove the wardens had followed up a report of a canoe dumping and found the couple safely ashore but suffering from the cold water. A solo canoeist running with the waves bobbed past. Overlooking our two somewhat heavily laden canoes, he expressed concern about the safety of the sea kayaks. Next an unmarked blue and white working-type boat passed us and continued around the island and back. I waved to no response and thought it rather anti-social. Someone with binoculars said the two men looked only straight ahead. Since they passed by two campsites I wondered if they were looking for someone. Later a helicopter passed overhead along the shore, and returned.

      Early the next morning we were on our way on calm waters. Overhead was a plane in camouflage, circling, and circling, and circling, until one of the Americans in our group wondered if we were at war. I said it would have to be with them, and hoped it was just someone enjoying a training exercise at our expense. On about the tenth circle, three brightly-coloured paper streamers were accompanied by a splash from a box asking us to wave our paddles if we were who we were. We did.

      Back at the Park we heard that there were two very red-faced wardens. At the kayak rental, I was told of a trip by the operator on which he radioed in that they would be a day late, were fine, and did not want rescuing, but were "rescued" anyway.

      At Lake Superior Provincial Park, paddlers are requested to report back by phone when they finish their trip, but are not sought. It is worth checking on the policy before departing.

      Unofficial rumours and an official "no comment" became a radio report that eight American women with a male guide were being sought while hiking.

      Well, if the hiking bear was male, and the bathing suit bear was female, that would make eight females and one male, but it would then make five Americans and ignore us four Canadians. The report we heard as we drove home mentioned that we had been found but the cause of the problem was not known. Happily, the description of the group would not have alarmed any friends or relatives.

      Pukaskwa and the Lake Superior shore is a very special place, and I am delighted to have an opportunity to return this summer. The external entertainment is unnecessary. I hope it is a very early spring.

Rick Wise

      Early spring is a time to beware. Warm weather, cold water and overconfidence can make for a dangerous combination. I learned that lesson the hard way and it was a humbling experience. A guy who makes his living taking care of, and training others in the out-of-doors is not supposed to make mistakes. The fact is that we are all prone to errors in judgement, and experience and training doesn’t make you immune to accidents, it only makes it hurt more when it happens. The real test is in what you take home with you when it’s over.

      Our group, Josh, John, Rolly and myself planned on exploring the beautiful Whalesback area of the North Channel of Lake Huron – an area I knew well. We were already on location after a 4-day wilderness first aid course but though we were all experienced paddlers, Josh and Rolly had limited time in sea kayaks. I planned on getting them all hooked. In such a great location who could not get hooked? Our plan was one overnight, explore and go over general out-trip procedures. Because of the group’s individual experience and the time already on the water I ignored the little voice in my head reminding me that rescue procedures had not been covered as a group. I told myself that the water was too cold for practice anyway and that it was not part of my agenda at this time. Besides, these people were all accomplished paddlers.

      Clear weather was forecast with westerly winds building over the next 24 hours to small craft warning conditions of 20 to 30 knots. We noted this and decided to change our travel plans to go west on day one and have the winds at our backs returning on day two. Rough conditions make for good training and experience and there was enough sheltered water around to be safe.

      After a beautiful night we woke to clear skies and light winds, but by the time we broke camp the winds had increased to about 15 knots. We were in the protected waters of the surrounding islands and the wind, though strong, did not have much fetch to build waves. We talked about our objectives. I hoped to expose the group to rough conditions and give them some valuable experience. After a few hours of paddling, I felt the group was ready to cross the channel. We chose a route on the north side of our islands, on an angle exposing our boats to following seas but in relative protection. The in-line distance to the far shore was 2 km but we would need to paddle about five on the angle we had chosen. We would sneak behind Beardrop Island on the other side and get into sheltered water again. We reviewed our formation and pledged to stay together. Away we went, I leading, and the others close behind.

      Following seas are great fun but require more effort to keep the boat on track since the waves are continually overtaking the boat, picking up the back end and carrying it around. Rudders can help but the boat performance remains sloppy and the rudders sometime breach the water so it can be intimidating. The only way to overcome this is to paddle like hell to catch up to the speed of the waves and start surfing them. You can build up good speed doing this and cover distance but it takes continual effort and some skill to ride the waves and keep the boat up to speed.

     Josh was eager to surf, and pushed by me all smiles on several good waves. I kept an eye behind me watching Rolly, who seemed very cautious and uncertain in these building conditions. "Stay close to Rolly," I shouted to John over the roar of the wind and waves. I tried a few surfs also but hung back generally to watch Rolly and John. We were well over halfway and going back would have been difficult. As we came nearer to the far shore our exposure to the fetch increased and not quite a kilometre offshore we were completely exposed to the wind and waves from the west. Seas were approaching 2 metres with a rough chop on top and some waves were starting to break at their peaks. This was the crux of the crossing. In a hundred metres we would be behind Turtle Rock, a bald piece of real estate about the size of a house. Waves were pounding its smooth rock surface, offering no landing, but it would break up the wave pattern behind it and not far beyond that lay Beardrop Harbour, our destination.

      It was then I heard a shrill whistle from behind me. I turned to see the bottom of Rolly’s boat disappear behind a wave. John was frantically beckoning to us to assist. "Boat over." I yelled to Josh as we turned around in the breaking waves to head directly back into the maelstrom. Now we were in it. The very scenario I had dismissed in my mind earlier was upon us – a rough water rescue in cold water conditions with no previous group practice. Great!

      Turtle Rock was dangerously close and I did not want to be washed up on it in mid-rescue. I instructed Josh to pick up Rolly on the bow of his boat. He could hang there safely and his weight, below the waterline, would act as ballast to stabilize Josh’s kayak. Together, we created a raft that was now being blown broadside to the wind. In these conditions, the larger the raft the more difficult it becomes to manage as the waves start to play "snap the whip" with the last boat and bang the boats together. Three boats together are safe, but any more than that becomes a hazard.

      We unclipped the sea sponsons that Rolly had begun to deploy, to get them out of the way and prepared for a kayak over kayak rescue. All the time Rolly was clinging to Josh’s kayak and getting pummeled by cold waves. His wet suit was, ironically, stowed in behind his seat, doing him absolutely no good. (The air temperature was hot, and so he had elected to leave it off.) Because of our configuration and the high winds, it became impossible for us to right Rolly’s kayak without breaking our raft.

      Paddles and some gear had gone into the water and now our little raft was like a sail, quickly propelling us away from the flotsam. I told Josh to break from the formation and with Rolly on the front of his boat, hover into the waves and collect the gear. (A mistake – don’t separate the rescuee from his boat.) By the time we had righted his kayak and put it back in the water we were at least 30 metres away from Josh’s boat. Now we had lost sight of them altogether between the wave troughs. I fought down a bolt of panic and stared out across the crashing waves. Just as suddenly they reappeared and John headed toward them as a guide for me and to assist Josh.

      It was up to me now to tow Rolly’s boat back to the group. Ordinarily this is a simple procedure but now, as if to underscore our vulnerability, fate poked another bony finger into my chest. My rescue rope was the type worn around the waist but I had been having problems with it remaining secure and had found it uncomfortable and awkward. My solution had been to store it behind my seat where it was now, in these conditions, with my only carabiners, out of my reach. Rolly’s boat had a tow-line already pre-attached, (that is a must for every boat, and boy was I glad of that now) but how to attach it to me? I dared not turn around behind me in these conditions and attaching it in front would present a hazard and probably snag my paddle. John was now with Josh and unable to hear or help me. The only attachment point I could find was high on my life jacket where a strap was chain looped and stitched to the vest. I clumsily attached it and began the paddle back. Every tug on the line from the towed boat threatened to pull me over and into the icy water. I had to continually brace against it with each tug, slowing my progress even more. If I went over, rolling back up with the line attached would be very difficult at best and chances were I wouldn’t succeed. Then two of us would be in the water and our chances of a successful rescue would be almost... well, let’s say I didn’t want to go there. I plodded back against the wind and waves to where the group was hovering. Those few minutes seemed agonizingly slow and as I paddle I prayed "Lord, please don’t let me go over, please don’t let me go over." Stroke by stroke by brace I approached the group and now we were finally back together.

      By now Rolly had been in the water about five minutes and every wave that went by washed cold water over his body and continued to chill him. The mid-channel temperature on that day could not have been more than about 10 degrees Celsius and the wind and waves made it all the worse. Time seemed to have almost stopped for Rolly and he was getting dangerously cold. Would he have enough strength and feeling in his hands to pull himself back in his boat? We rafted up again and slowly, with our help, as the waves heaved and rolled underneath us, Rolly dragged himself up over his deck and into his cockpit. He was shaking violently but he was all right. We held together and helped Rolly get his skirt back on his boat. We were still very vulnerable. Would Rolly even be able to paddle?

      Still in raft formation it was now safe to get my tow-rope out from behind my seat and we secured it to Rolly’s boat. Then, with Josh and John close to Rolly we began the last trek toward the shore. I wanted to make Beardrop Harbour, but Rolly, still fearful of the conditions that had already dumped him wanted to head on a more stable angle slightly up wind. This is the point where the sea sponsons would have been really handy, stabilizing Rolly’s boat for him as we paddled back shoreward.

      As it was, we made it successfully to shore and began the task of further re-warming Rolly. The wind was still howling but we found shelter in the trees and, in a sunny spot, we wrapped him in a tarp and stripped off his wet clothes, replacing them with dry ones. We spent at least an hour there feeding him soup and snacks until he felt fine again. The hypothermia had fortunately been mild enough.

      With the danger behind us a huge wave of relief washed over me and we began to congratulate ourselves for a successful rescue. In many ways, once the situation had occurred, we performed well for an unpractised group and I was thankful of that. We had made a few mistakes, but no one had panicked. The whole rescue had lasted an estimated 5-7 minutes from the time he went over until the time we got Rolly back into his boat again. Rolly was certain that he was in the water for 15 to 20 minutes. If that had been the case I am sure his hypothermia would have been much more severe.

      The wind continued but our route out was protected and safe. Even so, Rolly (now a very suitable name for him) was very anxious about getting back in and paddling back to the cars, still 5-6 km away. And who could blame him? We took our time and returned to the dock in a few hours. We drove Rolly home even though he said he could manage on his own. I knew though that his body would soon give in to exhaustion and he fell sound asleep on the 20 minute drive home. He slept soundly for most of the two days after that. His muscles were stiff and sore for a week afterward because of the demand he had put on them when he was chilled and he discovered bruises on his body that he could not explain.

      I need to emphasize that this was planned as a guide training exercise. The people had a great deal of outdoor experience and training in many other areas and I had been in similar conditions many times before. Despite this or maybe because of it, we had been overconfident of ourselves, underestimated the conditions and had paid for it. We spent many hours evaluating it and shortly after the adventure we practised all sorts of rescue scenarios.

      The biggest lesson for me was not to assume anything about the people you are with, despite their related areas of expertise. White water is not the same as moving wind driven waves. I now review, practise and make sure that procedures are in place to cover the basic and advanced safety of the group each time I go out. I know that there are many people kayaking today who have never taken a course or practised any kind of rescue. To them I say, take a course and practice in many differing conditions. Don’t take anything for granted and beware of the fatal syndrome "This won’t happen to me!" Rescue is a skill, like anything else, and needs to be continually kept up. Don’t go out in any conditions that you are not competent to rescue yourself, or others in. Make sure you are well prepared for changing conditions.

      We didn’t exactly hook Rolly on sea kayaking that day, but he did get back on the horse, so to speak, and has become a much better kayaker because of his experience. He now wears his wetsuit in cold water conditions despite the air temperature, and I always keep my rescue equipment where I can get at it easily. And I keep my humility there too.

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