Improvise. Adapt. Overcome.  I collect all sorts of recipes, but this is one of the shortest in my files. It won’t help you make a killer bannock or whip up a three‑course camp meal with one pot and a steel cup, but it’s a useful guide to solving many seemingly intractable problems. Actually, it’s more goad than recipe. If you say these three words often enough, and loudly enough, you’ll probably be inspired to try harder. It works for me. And while I don’t know if Ric Olsen has ever uttered the same magic words, let alone chanted them loudly and often, I suppose he might have. Anyway, I do know he has a keen eye and an ingenious turn of mind. The results are there for all of us to see. But that’s getting ahead of my tale.

Back in September I described how I’d replaced the cane seat in my little Old Town Pack canoe, and I mentioned in passing that I’d raised the seat frame to gunwale height soon after buying the boat. Why did I bother raising the seat? Well, for one thing, it’s more comfortable. It gives my feet room to roam when I kneel. But that wasn’t what sealed the deal. A high seat is also less likely to pin a foot in a capsize. Mind you, I’m not suggesting that Old Town was remiss in designing the Pack. I’m sure they gave plenty of thought to the height of the seat. After all, most canoeists sit on the seat when they paddle this diminutive craft, with their legs stretched out in front of them. So they’re not very likely to catch a foot on the seat frame if they go over. The obvious conclusion? For many paddlers, a dropped seat makes sense. It lowers the center of mass a bit, making “tippy” canoes less tender, and therefore less likely to capsize in the first place. But I like to alternate between sitting and kneeling, and I’ve been known to take my Pack canoe into fairly lively rapids. I also wear wellies on flatwater. So my feet need all the room they can get. There’s a bonus to having a high seat, too: On those occasions when I do sit, it gives me a better view of what lies ahead. Even a couple of inches can make a big difference here.

Of course, there’s more than one way to address any problem. In fact, one paddler’s problem is another’s opportunity… Read more…

 
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The day was drawing to a close. All of us were tired, and some of us were getting decidedly cranky. We’d been paddling for hours along a narrow river, through country that had the character of a waterlogged sponge. In fact, that’s really what it was—a well-watered lowland forest, rich in black spruce, shrubby leatherleaf, and bog flowers. A great place for turtles, herons, ducks, muskrats and beaver. Not so great a place for camping, however. Still, we knew that a good campsite wasn’t far away. We were looking for an esker.

The sky darkened. Our shadows lengthened and then disappeared altogether. The sun sank below the horizon. Finally, just as the last of the light was going, we rounded a bend and saw a long, low ridge rising up alongside the river. We’d found our home away from home. We weren’t the first folks to do so. The scattered remnants of a fish-drying rack could be seen on the river bank, lying where some earlier gale had brought a wet-footed gray birch crashing down upon it.

We dragged ourselves and our gear up a short, steep trail to the summit of the ridge. The narrow crest was level and dry—scarce amenities in the watery lowlands of central Ontario. Birch and aspen leaves trembled in a gentle breeze that helped keep the evening mosquitoes at bay. Chickadees wished us good night. Then they were silent. The first notes of the frog chorus began. Somewhere, not too far off, a loon called. In no time at all we’d pitched our tents on the stoney, sandy soil and were busy making a late supper. It wasn’t the first time I’d camped on an esker, of course—eskers are common throughout the once-glaciated regions of the northeastern United States, eastern and arctic Canada, and Scandinavia—but it was the first time I’d actually gone looking for one.

Often known locally as “hogbacks” or “horsebacks,” eskers aren’t among the most spectacular landscape features. From the seat of a canoe or kayak, an esker looks like nothing so much as a long, low, undulating ridge. Seen from near its base, however, an esker rises steeply. If there isn’t a landing carved into the flank or a small beach at its foot, you’ll have a hard time scrambling out of your boat and up the slope. As you climb, you’ll notice that the esker is formed from gravel, cobbles and sand. Look closely at the stones at your feet, and you’ll see that they have very few sharp edges. Each stone looks as if it’s been tumbled about for a long time, like a rough-polished gem. And so it has. The gravels and cobbles of eskers have been polished by moving water, just like the stones in a riverbed. And, indeed, eskers mark the paths of long-vanished rivers.

Here are a few photos of an esker snaking along the forested flank of a mountain in the northern Adirondacks, beginning with a portion which is bifurcated, or split:

Note the steep sides. And here’s a view from further along, showing where a stream has carved down through the esker, allowing a pair of mountain tarns to drain off the slope and empty into a lake several hundred feet below:

And another view down the long axis of the esker:

So how, then, did eskers form? They’re a relic of the most recent Ice Age, and the mark the paths of ancient rivers. … Read more…

 
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Bike maintenance is made easier with a good selection of shop tools. If you do more for your bikes than repair punctured tubes or keep the tires pumped up, then you’ll appreciate the proper tools for whatever job is at hand. They’re a worthwhile investment for any home bike mechanic.

We love our bikes and everything that goes with them, right? And we never tire of looking at them. At least I don’t, and if I’m to judge from what others tell me, I’m not alone. So each Sunday I’ll publish a bike related picture. Most of the time the picture will be a photo, but I’ll also include drawings, paintings, sculptures, and any other representation of a bike or bike stuff. If you have one you’d like to contribute to the gallery, just email your picture(s) to me.

 
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