A Note to the Reader The Nearys have parted company with Ed and Brenna, leaving them to continue on down the Albany River alone. Or are they?

 
Our story continues…

 
Chapter Twenty-Four

 
Ed and Brenna awoke to a cloudless sky and a steady northwesterly breeze. It was their first morning on the Albany, and the omens were promising. From their camp on a gravel bar, high above the riverbank alders, the first light of dawn illuminated both the mouth of the Misehkow and the broad channel of the big river that would lead them to the Bay. An exuberant troupe of boreal chickadees flitted round them. Even better, the mosquitos and blackflies seemed to have taken a holiday. Life was good.

They ate breakfast as the rising sun wakened all the colors of the landscape, from the pale green of the isolated stands of poplar to the darker hue of black spruce and the deep blue of the river itself. Later, while Brenna struck camp and stowed their gear, Ed rigged the canoe for sailing.

“Seems like the last time was years ago, doesn’t it?” Brenna mused, as she tied the final pack in place and watched Ed finish off the last lashing.

“What?” Ed asked. His mind was on other things.

“Spirit Camp. Wabakimi. Big water,” Brenna replied. She spread her arms wide and grinned. Ed grinned, too, and without another word they pushed off. In seconds they’d dropped the leeboard, and the spritsail was filling. The canoe swept down the river with the stately grace of a royal barge, as a steady beam wind added five miles an hour to the two already imparted by the current

Much to Ed and Brenna’s delight, the wind held good for days, an almost unvarying light to moderate breeze. Sometimes it veered north and sometimes it backed west, but it nearly always blew fair. Whether reaching or running, the wind hurried them along. Ed and Brenna sat among their packs on the bottom of the canoe, leaning back to windward against rolled foam pads. One tended the mainsheet while the other kept the leeboard trimmed. It was easy work, done to the accompaniment of the liquid babble of the wake. (Ed called it “water music,” and the name stuck.) Thirty-mile days were now a matter of a few easy hours, broken only by an occasional sandbar or riffle, and the grueling slog on the upper Misehkow was soon forgotten.

Having made their planned miles by lunchtime, Ed and Brenna chose the day’s campsite early and then pushed on up some inviting tributary stream or hiked away from the river on one of the numberless game trails. They usually returned from these excursions late, fly-bitten, and soaked—Brenna was quick to note that however tall her waterproof boots, she was always sure to step in a bog at least one inch deeper than they were high—but both were delighted nonetheless. Brenna filled sketch-book after sketch-book, while Ed spent hours perfecting his roll-cast. His luck was usually good. Perhaps it was too good. Brenna began to dream of lasagna and roast beef. But she kept these thoughts to herself.

All good things must end sooner or later, though, and after five days, their fair wind deserted them, swinging round until it blew square in their faces, driving a chill, swirling mist before it. Low cloud now covered the sky from horizon to horizon.… Read more…

 

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Hooked? A new chapter in our serial adventure novel, Trip of a Lifetime, will appear every Sunday. If you’ve missed a chapter, or if you’re coming aboard for the first time and want to catch up, just use the hot-linked title to go to the archives.

 
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A REMINDER This is a work of fiction. All the characters are figments of the imaginations. It’s NOT a paddling guide. If you’re planning a trip on the Albany River—or any other body of water, come to that—consult the most recent edition of a good guidebook and be sure you’re thoroughly familiar with all applicable regulations. While maps of Ontario show some of the waterways mentioned here, the places depicted in our story exist only in our minds—and in yours.