Come Hell or High Water






Paddling solo always takes more contemplation and courage. There is no one to share their tent if you forgot yours, or lend you that piece of equipment you left at the last campsite or lost in the river. But, promised an optimum window of good weather and high water on the South Saskatchewan River between Estuary and Lancer ferries, I was determined this trip would happen. I would bite off another piece of the river I hope to paddle in its entirety.

After a day of prep — yes it takes me that long — I ticked the last item off my equipment and supply lists. It would take an hour and forty minutes to get to the Estuary Ferry, my starting point. I wanted an early morning start. Because of the special rack my husband designed to extend the truck bed, my kayak rides safe and still. I can load as much as three kayaks on their sides and all the supplies for three kayakers in the back. It is a godsend.

Launching at Estuary Ferry

We found a fairly solid piece of land on the south side of the river and downstream of the Estuary ferry by a few feet. The ferry master was accommodating. Sometimes they have safety concerns and don’t want you near their ramp. I was on the water by 9:25 hours and moving at a fast rate downstream, with a current and southwesterly wind pushing my back.

After the first surprise of the speed at which I was travelling, I received my next revelation. I had anticipated a landscape similar to that I’d paddled from Lancer to Cabris – a lot of sand spits and scrub willow along low cut-offs. Instead I soaked in the grandeur of towering hills, cut into lacy patterns, and long stretches of verdant grass with mature poplars marching in line. There were also a lot more turns in the river than it appeared there would be from the map.

Bridge for Hwy 21

The Saskatchewan Water Authority reported this would be the three highest days of water on the river through this stretch, and they delivered. While a few times I found my paddle hitting sand, for the most part I floated over any obstacles. There was an occasional stretch of current, and what seemed like confused water charging me from all sides, like a classroom of school kids let loose for recess. I also paddled a few long stretches where the wind became a hindrance rather than a help. As I have chosen not to put a rudder on my kayak, this meant a plethora of portside strokes. I discovered if I charged at the lowest sand spit I could get my bow up far enough to allow me to exit before being swept downstream. A few times a pointing finger of rocks served me well. Lunch was an ideal of laziness in the shade of murmuring poplars. Two hours later I paddled under the bridge at highway 21.

At 17:00 hours I pulled out to make camp on a clay pan dented by the ancient hoof prints of cattle molded into its hard surface. I set up camp in the shade and enjoyed the serenity of birdsong and wind rustling leaves while I cooked dinner. My night was uneventful, except that I got cold (another lesson learned).

I broke camp and was on the water by 08:10 hours the next morning. As I stood on the bank, making a drowsy sounding video on waking, I could see a great difference in the speed of the water. Now the surface was covered with small bits of detritus and floating foam bobbles. The temperature was supposed to be in the mid-twenties again, and the wind remained south southwest from what I could determine.

The big excitement today was a good learning lesson. Hot from a half hour stretch of paddling with a wind quartering my bow, I decided to float in under an overhanging poplar, protruding from a muddy cut bank. I usually seek out cut banks because they indicate the fastest water and most help. As I came on the branch, I reached up to hold myself in place – I would just rest in the shade for a few minutes, as I do when paddling a lake or slow river. But folks don’t try this at home! The current was having none of this stop and stay approach. I found my head smothered by a wreath of leaves and branches, while my kayak continued downstream, leaving me hanging onto the branches, and tilting sideways. Water streamed into the cockpit before I fought free and the kayak turned over. I extracted myself instinctively, and even managed to catch my hat and thermos as they floated by. My big concern was staying with the kayak and not being marooned on this isolated piece of river. The water had carved a series of steps into the cutback, and I managed to find footing in the muck and heft the bow of my kayak up onto the first shallow step. From there I pushed it higher, a feat of strength only possible because of the huge shot of adrenaline in my bloodstream. My pump worked like a charm, I sponged out the remaining water, and straddling my vessel was back in my seat and rushing downstream backward. I had lost nothing but my sunglasses (I always wear inexpensive ones because of just this happenstance). By the time I turned Joy (my kayak) downstream and sorted out the gear in my cockpit, I looked up and saw the Lemford Ferry across the river and only about five minutes downstream. I floated past midriver, seeing no sign of a ferry master.

I hadn’t expected to see the ferry until late afternoon, so I needed to re-calculate my time. Why set up camp for a second night if I was that close? I sent a text off to Den telling him I’d be at Lancer between 18:00 and 20:00 hundred that evening. It joined the cue of texts informing him of my progress. I had no satellite service at any time on this trip; neither could I get a GPS reading.

Nature’s clothesline

Twenty minutes downstream from the ferry I saw coming up on the north bank the most beautiful tree, stripped of bark, its shining surface beckoned me. Here was nature’s clothesline, a scenic spot to dry out. Because of the speed of the water, the only way I could land that second day was to paddle past a spit of rock or sand spit, turn against the current and paddle back up into an eddy, getting my nose on the shore in the protection the quieter water provided. Dressed in the spare clothes from my dry bag, my belongings stretched across the tree and drying in the sun, I ate lunch and rested.

 

Verdant grass and mature trees.

Two hours later I was back on the water. I paddled my usual two hours before pulling in on the south side to rest in the deep and inviting shade laid down by a row of trees. As I contemplated paddling for another four hours, little did I know I was almost done. Back on the water, I followed the south shore in the fast water of a cut bank. I had been fighting wind for quite some time, this point in the river curving north east so the wind was quartering on my bow again. Twenty minutes later, I looked up and saw the Lancer Ferry. Unable to believe I was there already I scoped it, then dropped the binoculars and paddled with the strength of a madwoman, aiming directly into the north shore and fighting for speed over distance. I did not want to sweep by the ferry mid river. The wind slapped the side of my kayak, but my trajectory to the Northshore shortened, and became doable. As I approached, wondering if the ferry master would see me, he suddenly started across to the other side. I was so thankful, because I couldn’t land upriver of the ramp, without hitting my bow hard on reinforcing rocks. He told me later that he just wanted to get out of my way and make it easier for me not to hit the cable. I floated past the ramp, turned up river and paddled into an eddy. There was enough sand/mud shoreline for me to get my bow established and hop out. It was 15:40 hours and I was nine hours ahead of my calculated schedule. The river had risen five inches overnight, because of heavy rains in the Calgary area, and almost doubled my paddling speed. What a whoop!

Dalton, the Lancer ferry master, demonstrated all the best of human beings, offering me his truck to drive up the hill for a satellite signal, then his landline on the ferry so I could reach Den, a chair in his a/c office and a ride up the hill to it. As I waited the two hours for my shuttle in total comfort, I could barely believe my adventure was over. Never have I encapsulated so much into such a small window of time – action, lessons learned, innovation, beauty, solitude, gratitude, adventure. This exploit will go into my journals as one of the best. Life delivered everything in plenty, helping me rise above health issues and prove again I can do anything I choose.

Unloading ending of day two.

Wind ruffled clouds and water.

A deer leaps away at my approach

 

A Prehistoric Paddle






 

Badlands- 75 million years of carving.

Arrival at the summit leading down into Dinosaur Provincial Park, Alberta, left me breathless, and that wasn’t because I climbed it on foot! I was looking over forty-seven square kilometres of sculptures carved out by glacier melt. Table top rocks balanced on slender columns, hoodoos formed fascinating castles. Curves melded, caves beckoned and chasms promised untold treasures. And I would paddle through this timeless terrain.

My paddling mates Barbara and Nadine arrived at our booked campsites ahead of my husband (who had volunteered to shuttle us) and me. They had their tents erected, and we all pitched in and got a tarp up and the table beneath, just as the skies opened and rain poured down through supper and most of the night. It didn’t stop us from enjoying a chicken stir fry cooked up by Nadine, and the fresh baked apple pie I’d made. We also enjoyed a rousing game of cards. I took the easy route and stayed with Den in a hotel in Brooks, a thirty minute drive from the park.

Early morning found us at the gravel and dirt boat launch in the park. The water wasn’t high and there was a steep bank formed by several sand and mud shelves. Packing kayaks is a slow and steady job, and three male kayakers arrived at the launch from upstream as we finished. They were most helpful in pushing us off our precarious perches.

Victim of past floods.

The river was quiet, with little sign of surface current. We headed downstream to the northeast. Scenery was splendiferous, from trees made skeletal by the last flood, to sandstone carvings and mudstone flats.

Caves and, chasms

We found the water level low, and many times over the two-day paddle found our kayaks in six inches of water, as we raced for more depth before getting hung up on a sandbar. Progress was side-to-side, as much as forward in places, as we aimed for the cut banks and the deeper, faster water.

 

 

 

Lunch anyone?

A handy sandbar provided a place for lunch and a stretch. Then we paddled until looming clouds and the growl of thunder in the west warned us to get off the water. We settled for a sandbar stretching out from a sheltering bluff with enough Russian Willow trees to provide purchase for our tarp. Nadine, who is a tarp guru, had it up in minutes. We stashed our kitchen gear on a tarp under the shelter. Our tents provided bright splashes of color as the sky darkened and rain blasted us for several hours. I had a nice nap and woke to the smell of food cooking. Called to dinner under the tarp, we feasted on ham steak, new potatoes and squash.

By 9:30 pm the storm had moved off and a brilliant evening followed. While I enjoyed a quiet walk along the shoreline, Nadine and Barbara reported they took in the sunset bathing the monuments in gold and scarlet as late as 11:30 pm.

Faced with a cloudburst.

Barbara cooked a full breakfast of pancakes, ham, eggs and fruit. We don’t suffer for food on our trips – they’re all about the eating! We were packed and back on the water at 9:15 am and paddled for two hours. We were just about to land for a lunch break when another cloudburst set us scrabbling for the protection of a high bluff. Pulling up against it, we waited out the short spate of rain, not wanting the bother of putting on our spray skirts. At this point Nadine checked her maps and discovered we were just a few kilometres from the Jenner Bridge, where we would meet Den and pull out.

We arrived only to find our transport missing. This was not like my husband, who would normally be there hours earlier, parked and looking down the river for his first glimpse of us. When I questioned his absence, I learned Nadine and he had spoken of a small campground a kilometre further down river, where it would be much easier to take out. But—and here is the big mistake no experienced adventurer should make—not one of us locked in the final destination, or a plan B.

We decided to eat lunch under the bridge in hopes he was just late and would show up. While the cement embankment made for a comfortable picnic spot, the steep incline would make taking out almost impossible. We guessed Den had gone on to the campsite, but couldn’t move out in case he hadn’t. Our quandary was solved short minutes later, when the three male kayakers we’d met the day before, at the launch, paddled by. They agreed to tell Den we were at the bridge, and say we would wait there for him. In short order he appeared, and we locked in take out at the campground and paddled away.

Brooding clouds and quiet water.

Unloading three kayaks and loading them and all our equipment into the back of the truck was a good workout. We were happy to sit in air conditioned comfort as Den shuttled Barbara and Nadine back to their vehicle. At Dinosaur Park we decompressed, before we separated, by enjoying the parks famous ice cream. We had a lot to celebrate. Though black clouds brooded above us both days, we were sheltered from heavy rains, had quiet water, minimal wind, no bugs and mid twenty temperatures. Toasting our successful paddle with our favourite flavour mounded onto a crunchy cone was definitely a good choice.

Paddling buddies.

How you cope with the conditions and changes determines the success of your adventure. Experiencing the inner workings of your paddling companions adds a deeper element to any trip. I am most fortunate to have two innovative, strong and courageous paddling companions, one bringing calm logic, the other eternal optimism to the mix.

My Review of Tell It Like It Is by Stanalei Fletcher






Hired as bodyguard for a feisty elderly writer, Shelby goes up against her client’s nephew, one Special Agent Nelson Kane. Shot when the FBI worked another case with Shelby’s employer, Northstar Security, Kane is prejudiced against her, until he sees she’s a consummate professional. Shelby is not only willing to die to protect his beloved aunt, but she also cares for Rosalee, as well.
The chemistry between Shelby and Kane is immediate, building from a bubbling froth to a potential combustion. Each is skeptical of a long term relationship working, but neither can walk away.
Fletcher builds tension by moving the reader from one attempt on Rosalee’s life to the next, as well as intriguing us with the growing connection between her two protagonists. The story includes characters introduced in earlier books in the Northstar series, increasing my interest in reading the others. The author has a flare for writing unique metaphors that grabbed my attention, such as “…his own love life was much the same. Catch and release.” The naturally flowing dialogue makes it a fast, easy, straight-through-to-the-end read. You can have an entertaining time with this book.

No clichés here. Check out Tell It Like It Is, book 5 in Stanalei Fletcher’s Northstar Security series.

My Review of Broken Trust by C.B. Clark







Coming out of an abusive marriage, Natasha Hartford, illustrator, has little reason to trust anyone, especially Detective Chase Brandon, who considers her a suspect in a murder. Caught up in a situation caused by her ex-husband, Natasha works with Chase as the body count rises. While he insists on guarding her, and she insists on helping him, the feelings between them grow. Hartford does a good job of showing me the building attraction, despite the distrust that continues between the two protagonists. The author inscribes detailed scenes that impress like hieroglyphics—no doubt because of her work as an archeologist. She has a gift for getting inside her protagonists heads. The continual fast pace of the plot satisfied my need for action and intrigue.

From Daring Heights – Writing a Series






I didn’t start out with the ambition of writing a series. I thought I could handle a trilogy with confidence, framed the concept around three brilliant men who meet at Harvard and built on it. I embraced Climbing High, the first book, with enthusiasm, the second, High Ground, with trepidation and the third, High Seas, with love. When the senior editor for my line suggested I had the material for a series and should proceed with one, I leapt on the idea. I did not want to let go of characters I had created, and come to know. They had much more to teach me through their philosophies, actions and feelings. It was a delight to move into book four.

In a recent interview with the “Prairie Post” I was asked, which was my favourite and least favourite book of the series. Reaching High, book four, RG Gribb’s story was easily my favourite. Here I unfold the secret connection between Jake Inglis and RG, to which I allude in the first three books. I left the reader wondering, what had brought the two men together, and resulted in RG giving Jake his intense loyalty and trust. RG, who had no expectations of finding love, moved into his forties dedicated to protecting Jake and his family and expecting nothing more for himself. Suddenly he has it all – a thriving business, a demanding job, and a woman he adores, who wants him, too. Their story flowed onto the page, because it was so integral to my hopes of what I felt this good man and wounded warrior deserved. I also focused on the epidemic of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder among military personnel, a subject close to my heart.

My least favourite – well, that wasn’t because of the fascinating characters Joshua and Cat – but because of a technical mistake I made in plotting. Josh is an IT genius, who writes security software for government agencies around the world. There, already you have a brain full. Imagine reading the better part of an opening chapter that deals with technical terms, computer geek thinking and Zen philosophy. It was a ponderous start, and in hind sight I wished I’d chosen a better place to begin the story. However, it does pick up momentum and races to a fast action finish with lots of suspense. In fact, I garnered my best reviews on High Ground.

Book five, High Risk, felt like a play date in the park, fast, furious and fun. I revelled in the process of creating two diverse lives and weaving them together into an unbreakable strand, while exploring more of the fascinating history and geography of Hong Kong.

Writing book six was truly a pleasure, as I chose to weave in personal history from my husband’s side of the family. I was intensely invested in my two protagonists. Though Anna was new to this book, Anton had been introduced in book four and his enigmatic persona challenged me to dig deeper. As I forced my way beneath his complex layers of pain, patience and protection, I found my perfect male. I also enjoyed exploring the older woman, younger man relationship that gave Anna so much inner conflict.

Writing the series went smoothly, the editing not so much. By the time I finished, my publisher had assigned three different editors, each with their idiosyncrasies around word usage and punctuation – not my strong suit, especially when it is so subjective these days. I was writing and publishing two books a year, the goal I’d set, but book six stopped my momentum dead. The writing was on target and time, but getting it edited was a long drawn out process of one delay after another. A year and a half after submission Sky High will finally be launched worldwide. A goal met, a series concluded, with mega learning along the way.

You can purchase print books at amazon.com or The Wild Rose Press or download a digital book on any e-reader.