Self-Care in the Outdoors

 

Although fall is my favourite time of year, there are times when the change of seasons bogs me down. Particularly on cloudy, wet days - and especially longer periods of such days - when the sun doesn’t make an appearance. During these times I don’t feel like I have any gas in the tank. Everything seems to be a chore. I think to myself that a day of fishing or hunting would be good for me, but I just don’t feel like making it happen. It seems like so much work.

I’ve learned over time to recognize this feeling, and just what to do about it. The remedy is forcing myself to follow through on my sentiments to get into the wilderness for a day or two. Regardless of what pressing matters may - apparently - be in the way. It’s like I have this alter-ego, kind of well-being-coach so to speak, that prods me with a sharp stick to pack my gear and get out.

Recently I did just that. I packed my stuff and headed out to my cabin in the woods. Took my dog, my shotgun and my fly rod and did some hunting and fishing. It was like magic.

The outdoors has always been a respite for me. Many others share in this sentiment. All in all, it’s good for what ails you. 

Depression comes in many forms. And just about everyone suffers from it in varying degrees. I believe it has always been prevalent in the human condition; but up until this generation it has not been openly discussed, and in many cases, taken seriously. Post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) is a major contributor to depression in my former line of work, policing. But of course it can occur in every walk of life. 

Many suffer from seasonal affective disorder that occurs every year often in the winter. Its onset occurs in the fall coinciding with the reduction of sunlight.

Depression can also be triggered by illnesses - especially those that linger and seemingly take forever to resolve. Relationship and family troubles are another root cause of depression. 

When I started my career in the 1980s, I never heard the term PTSD. Of course we all knew that soldiers suffered from things like “shell-shock;” which was a term commonly used to describe the mental illnesses sustained by veterans of the 1st and 2nd World Wars, Korean and Vietnam Wars. But by the time I had completed my 30 years in 2011, PTSD diagnoses in emergency service workers, and soldiers, was clearly on the rise.

The summer after I retired, I participated as a fly fishing guide for Project Healing Waters. It’s a program dedicated to the physical and emotional rehabilitation of disabled active military personnel and veterans. I also joined another group of anglers from the project a few years ago.

Both times it was a remarkably rewarding experience. Although I was never in the military, my experiences in policing were somewhat transferable, affording me more compassion for their recovery. 

I also knew how to get fish. And the soldiers appreciated that very much. I watched with amazement as their demeanour transformed from frowns to smiles in just a matter of days. 

My experience with Project Healing Waters, combined with my own observations about the benefits of spending time in the outdoors, has convinced me that self-care in the outdoors is more than just fluff. It is solid therapy for healing. 

So this fall and winter, make sure you spend time in God’s creation. Do whatever it takes to get outside on a regular basis. Prod yourself with a virtual sharp stick, or even give a loved one permission to do it with a real one. No excuses - just “get-r-done.”

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Outdoor Mentoring

Nearly 50 years ago I had my first experience being mentored in the outdoors. I was camping at Blue Lake Provincial Park with my family when a couple of “old Americans” asked me to join them on a fishing trip. They were “musky hunters” from Wisconsin. To a 12-year-old boy this would be akin to having Derek Jeter give you batting lessons. I remember the trip vividly. The anticipation, the excitement; the wide-eyed anticipation of a young boy going on an unimaginable adventure. I did hook one musky. It bent my Canadian-Tire-special rod in half as it hammered the lure and swam powerfully under the boat. Of course the line snapped with the twang of a taut guitar string. But I was unfazed. It was just another crossroad in my journey toward becoming an incurable outdoorsman.

Experiences like this have made me understand the value of mentoring others - especially youth - in the love of the outdoors.

For several years I guided fly anglers on the Nipigon River and other places. I noticed that when customers caught nice fish under my tutelage it almost brought more joy than if I’d caught it myself. I had one customer who landed a trophy brook trout pull a $30-dollar cigar out of his jacket, light it up and say “I don’t care if I ever catch another fish.” As he leaned satisfactorily against the bank of the river. 

In the last few years I’ve been teaching a young fellow how to fly fish - specifically for steelhead, arguably one of the most dynamic fish you can catch on a fly rod. He’s 16-years-old now, all 6’4” of him. Alden is his name, he’s the son of some family friends. Several years ago I agreed to take him fly fishing and show him a few things. Eventually he hooked and landed his first steelhead. Since then his enthusiasm has grown to what I’d call “functional insanity.”

What I enjoy most about fishing with Alden is his enthusiasm. He’s totally absorbed with the program. Always trying new things, and totally accepting of advice and teaching. Nothing worse than a beginner who knows it all already. This is definitely the opposite of Alden. 

I have a soft spot for young people desperate to catch fish. I once bumped into a boy on the McIntyre River who was in dire need of guidance. His pants were soaked to the waste and his rubber boots full of water, having just charged into the river in an unsuccessful attempt to land a large steelhead. I gave him a few flies, some split shot, and a quick lesson on how to tie a good knot. I gave him a few tips on how and where to fish. His wide smile seemed to say “There is hope!” and his demeanour changed from downcast to determined. I guess he reminded me of myself musky fishing when I was his age.

There are so many reasons to mentor young people in the outdoors. There are great benefits for them, of course, but also for the one doing the mentoring. Yes, that’s right. It shifts your focus from yourself to others. It gives us purpose, and self worth. It makes you feel that you’re contributing to the future of the next generation. 

If you have a young person in your family or circle of influence that is looking for outdoor mentoring. Do it. You won’t be sorry.

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Preserving Sacred Places

Early in May I trekked to one of my favourite rivers for some steelhead fishing. I went midweek to avoid the crowds but apparently many others had the same idea. That’s fishing. I arrived at one of my favourite spots at 0815. To put things in perspective, it’s not exactly an easy spot to find. It’s a 20-minute mud-slinging ride on a good 4x4 quad runner followed by a rather gruelling hike - all the while being a good hour-and-a-half drive from the city. When I arrived at my spot I was surprised to find two others fishing the same stretch of river. Rather than crowd these two anglers, I hiked 30-minutes farther to another spot.

This time I found solitude. Thank God! I climbed down the bank of the canyon wall and waded into ice-cold water. The river jets through a rocky slip here that is bordered on both sides by high banks. The east side is a rocky cliff that keeps the river in the shade until late afternoon. It is not uncommon to find ice shelves on the river here well into May - and today this was the case. I worked the deep dark pool methodically with my fly for about an hour. Then I found the sweet spot. I landed and released three nice steelhead in about 15 minutes. It takes some finesse to land a fish here because the pool spills into a heavy set of rapids making it impossible to follow a running fish. I’ve fished this spot for about 30 years I’d say. And remember one of the first decent steelhead I caught here about that long ago. The memory of that fish, and the seclusion of this special place, is what makes all the effort worthwhile. 

After releasing the third beautiful fish I was alerted to the smell of “pot.” I lifted my eyes upstream and sure enough there was a young fellow on the edge of the river looking in my direction. He was sipping on a tall can of beer and evidently smoking a marijuana cigarette. Oh well, I thought. As the saying goes, “It’s 5 O’clock somewhere.” If this wasn’t disappointing enough, he pulled a mobile phone out of his wader pocket and started talking. Although I didn’t catch the entire conversation, I did hear him say, “Hey dude. Come on up here. I just saw a guy land a nice one!” 

Minutes later another two young anglers showed up. Both carrying beers and fishing rods.

I fished this stream the following day and did find a cluster of empty beer cans on the stream bank where these folks had congregated. I also encountered another group of five anglers who, while being quite friendly, were noisy and reckless as they walked along the river bank calling to each other incessantly with screams and shrieks that could be heard for hundreds of yards.

I found myself getting quite frustrated and the whole experience diminished my enjoyment of this special place.

While my complaints may sound trite, remember that for most of us solitude in the outdoors is a respite from the stress of daily life. It is a time for quiet reflection and connection with our creator. In fact many equate time in the outdoors as “church.” 

My hope is that one day my grandchildren will be able to hike into places like this and find solitude. I believe that is a reasonable request. In the mean time, let’s do our best to respect the privacy of others by preserving sacred places.

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Canoe for Covid Heroes

At about 0630 one July morning I stepped out of my cabin and walked down to the beach in the thick fog. I could see two canoes with three paddlers in each quartering across Nipigon Bay. The fog made them look like they were levitating. I waved at them and they instantly changed course and paddled up to my beach. Their friendly faces looked lean, tired and bug bitten.

They explained they were paddling from Wabakimi Park to… Ottawa. That’s right, Ottawa! The six young men had spent the night on Vert Island because they couldn’t cross the bay due to heavy seas. They were now heading to Rossport. One of them asked, “Is there any place we could buy snacks between here and Rossport?” I answered, “Nope, not even before covid. This is no-man’s land.”

So I promptly went up to my cabin and cleaned out my snack drawer and brought it to them. They scarfed down a bag of chips, a chocolate bar and a dozen or so cookies and granola bars. l offered to make them coffee but they were determined to get on their way. 

They explained they were raising money for Covid-19 and that I should read about their journey at www.canoe4covid.ca. They had embarked on a two-month canoe trip from Wabakimi Park north of Armstrong, had recently crossed Lake Nipigon, and were now traversing Superior. I was stunned by their enthusiasm and bravery. Knowing what Superior can dish out this journey would be a daunting task.

They shoved off and thanked me profusely for the snacks.

Moved by their determination, I went back to my cabin and took inventory of my food supplies. I had a dozen eggs, bacon, cheddar cheese and some Five-Star bakery buns. I promptly made six breakfast buns and put them in zip-lock bags.

By now my friend Ken Funk had shown up to embark on a morning of salmon fishing. We launched my boat and set off in the fog looking for two red canoes headed east. A few minutes later we found them near Gravel Point. They’d paddled a remarkable distance in only one hour.

We delivered the breakfast buns in a fishing net to the happy paddlers and talked for a few minutes before they continued on towards Rossport. 

As I write this I am still amazed by these young men. All recent graduates of high school, they are putting their energies into making our world a better place. I noted that they had very positive attitudes and no complaints. 

You can read more about their journey and cause at www.canoe4covid.ca (actually https://foodbankscanada.akaraisin.com/ui/canoeforcovid/). To quote their website their endeavour is to “Help Food Banks Canada support communities and healthcare workers affected by COVID-19, and families facing food insecurity across the country.”

Please donate today.

Ode to Spring

Spring officially began on March 19 this year in the Northern Hemisphere. But as Northern Ontario residents know that date is still the dead of winter in these parts. In lower latitudes (even marginally lower) people are seeing green grass and tulips, while we are enjoying some really good ice fishing. 

Our change of seasons really comes about a month later in mid April. And it does so reluctantly. Some people think in terms of this time of transition as another season. As we all know it can be winter one day and spring the next; even winter in the morning and spring in the afternoon. 

This morning I needed a strong coffee (most mornings actually). So as soon as I walked into the kitchen I put the water on. Then I checked my messages and emails and responded to them. By this time the water had boiled and I poured hot water into my coffee grains. Then I pushed down the toaster. Now that I had nothing to do, I stood at the toaster and waited for it to pop. Man that takes a long time! Almost ten minutes in fact. While ten minutes doesn’t seem like a long time, try treading water for that long. Back in my twenties during my basic SWAT training I had to tread water fully clothed with my hands handcuffed behind my back - for ten minutes. Trust me, those ten minutes were a “long-long-long” time!

The analogy here is this: Spring in the north doesn’t arrive, it evolves. You can sit and stare out the window in anticipation for this transformation - or you can do something in the mean time. 

Like the other day when I drove out to my cabin to fetch my ice-fishing gear. I snowshoed into my humble abode and dragged all my gear out on a sled through snow drifts that were in some cases 4-feet high. I could have ice-fished in fact, as the bay still was solid with 16-inches of hard ice. But because I had this unquenchable urge to fish open water, I found some along Superior’s shore where I could fling a fly and spend the afternoon flogging frigid water. 

But lest we forget, this reluctant transition is not over. No, no, no. It can snow heavily in April and even May. I remember during the spring of 1983 when a huge snow storm hit on April 13th. (And yes “old people” do engage in conversations that begin like this.) I remember the year and date because I bought a brand new Ford Bronco in March of that year and had to lock it into 4-wheel drive to navigate around stranded cars on Memorial Avenue. 

Another fond memory of spring-days-gone-by is the time I took our friend Gilberto Elguezabal Jr. steelhead fishing in mid May. “Hil” as we affectionally referred to him, was a foreign exchange student from Mexico that lived at our house one winter. His goal was to experience a northern winter and improve his English. 

We were hiking up a trail to the river before dawn and were breaking through iced-over puddles with our wading boots. Hil turned to me at one point, obviously shivering, and said in his heavy Mexican accent, “Do’se eet ever get warm here?”

“Yes it does. For a couple of days in August.” Was my answer. 

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