A PRAIRIE JEWEL

 

 

Autumn nipped on the heels of summer as I headed west on the #1 highway. My Ford 150 with two kayaks loaded in the back, didn’t seem to mind the extra speed I demanded from it. Just before leaving that morning, I discovered my water heater had flooded my basement. Waiting for the plumbers put me three hours behind schedule. My paddling buddy, Barb, would arrive at the Kinbrook Island Provincial Park, AB well ahead of me. While my time management compulsion screeched an alarm, the wiser part of my brain whispered, “Relax, this is not a bad thing.” While I preferred the responsibilities around transport and loading, Barb had no problem choosing campsites and dealing with park personnel.

I had conceived of the idea of paddling Lake Newell, while trying to find a meeting point between her home in Radium, B.C. and mine at Sask Landing, SK. Years earlier she had suggested Lake Newell as a possible choice for a paddle and been told it was just a big slough. Having paddled on enough of them in Saskatchewan, I negated the experience.

Now I headed toward it with enthusiasm. I’d done my homework. Lake Newell was formed by the Bassano Dam in 1914. The Bow River that fed the dam ran into the lake via a seventy-three km long canal, creating a clear-water reservoir 14 kms long and 64.4 km’s squared. A lake this size could easily give us a couple of days of kayaking fun. Anticipation of discovery fluttered, like a butterfly breaking free of its cocoon, in my chest.

Going into the unknown always provides challenges. The first came when I missed the east turn-off into Brooks and sailed past the west turn-off. After snaking around several ramps on and off the highway, I found the right exit and drove the 14 kms south of Brooks that brought me to the park. A road running through wetlands, forms a bridge into the park.

Barb waited by the gate, book in hand. Both prolific readers, wait times, for us, are just excuses to fall into a new story line or absorb facts. After enthusiastic greetings, she led me to the area she’d selected for our tents. An astonishing two hundred campsites spread across a crescent of land facing the lake. It was shoulder season and the park seemed empty. Barb had chosen a campsite close to the boat launch, and public washrooms, but isolated from much of the rest of the park. I jumped out of the truck under a shower of the last of the fall leaves. Looking up I noticed the vigorous swaying limbs of the trees shading our site. Wind! I followed Barb to the water’s edge. A long crescent of sand end at the stacks of rock that formed the boat launch, making it appear like a medieval stronghold. The beach lay abandoned, but for a few gulls circling over head. I could imagine people jostling for space on a hot summer’s day. The 32 kph wind blew straight across the lake, slapping large waves onto the shore with the regularity of a percussionist striking a drum. There would be no kayaking today. Setting up camp became our priority.

The electric site comprised of a small U-shaped piece of drying grass with a peninsula of gravel wide enough for two vehicles jutting into the middle, leaving three possible grass spots for a tent. Barb’s erected tent claimed one of them. With dismay, I saw underground sprinklers had saturated one side of it. They’d come on just after she got things in place, Barb explained. She had already spoken to the park about the incongruous rule stating tents must be erected on the grass strips, when they continued to water. Ridiculous! Park personnel available stated they had no control over the sprinkler system. What did the hundreds of campers do through the summer months when the sprinklers came on? Thank heavens, for the remainder of our time the system watered in other areas or was turned off for the season. However, we were faced with a wet tent and contents. Even the sleeping bag had soaked up it’s share of moisture. We spread everything out over bushes and tables to dry, erected my tent and headed out to explore the park.

Campfire cooking and sharing good food is a huge part of our outdoor adventures, so despite the wind we had, a delicious barbecue rib dinner and a fun evening and retired replete after a full day.

Morning arrived in soft pinks and golds, with not a breath of wind to mar the day. We made quick work of breakfast, packed snacks and headed for the truck. The boat launch runs down into the water in the shelter of a large peninsula built with rocks. Once in the water you either paddle back past the beach towards the wetlands behind the park, or you go around the tip of the peninsula and find the south part of the east side of the lake. We chose this route.

Jostling for space and prestige, cottages lined the shore. Happily, we ducked in and out of piers sight seeing the private properties. Entertained for a short while, I felt relief when we rounded a curve and broke free of man’s mark on the lake. Now nature flaunted her riches, thick brush danced around high stands of Spruce, Fir and Cedar. Trembling Aspen and Green Ash twirled the last bright leaves against the sky, like children swung high by doting parents. The heavens were brilliant blue and cloudless. As the afternoon crept on, the sun unimpeded by cloud, heated the air. We shed a layer of clothing, then another. We paddled into a small bay and landed on a curve of sand, determined to cool off in the water. No sooner had we picked a spot for our dip than a man and woman appeared on the ridge above us. We continued paddling southeast, hoping they’d leave and we could return for our swim. It appeared that soon the shoreline would change to prairie grass, low and flat. We had abandoned the best spot. However, when we retraced our route twenty minutes later, it was to find the man had launch his kayak and was paddling around OUR bay while the woman walked two dogs on OUR beach. Sweating and tiring, we headed for the boat launch. The launch is well constructed but long. We decided loading and unloading each time we paddled wasted too much time, so by-passed it and pull our kayaks up on the beach closest to our campsite. There were so few people around we concluded they would be safe.

Once we landed, I retrieved the truck from the launch lot, and we hit the beach for a swim. It was September 16, but after an initial chill, the water refreshed. On the way up from the beach, we found the parking lot filled with emergency vehicles. We wondered if there had been a boating accident or drowning. Shortly, we realized the Search and Rescue was running a simulation. Boats and inflatable rafts were launched in quick succession. Paramedics opened the backs of ambulances and stood by. The firemen in bright yellow gear moved around their trucks. Over the water we could hear voices calling on walkie talkies and satellite phones. My admiration for S&R and their volunteers is high. Watching them practice for several types of emergencies reassured me help is close no matter how wild or isolated the adventure.

The next morning, we woke to wind. High waves formed white spume around the rocky peninsula of the launch. We pushed out into them and headed north, gaining some protection from the waves in the wetlands. We saw few birds, as it seemed most had started their long flight south. The high reeds protected us from the wind, and we explored several expanses of water reached through narrow passages. A few times we came to dead ends that forced us to backtrack, more typical of channels in a river, but that just added to the fun.  From our kayaks we could see a path winding atop the high ground through the wetlands. Interpretive signs dotted its lazy length.

Finally, knowing we had to take-down camp and drive long distances, we headed back to the beach. Spontaneity is always the best part of any adventure. With a quick nod of agreement, Barb charged into the water beside me. Fully dressed, we shivered through one last interaction with the lake.

Each trip into new territory serves up the unknown. All of my new learning from Lake Newell proved pleasant. Its expanse and clear water were a revelation. However, as someone attracted to rocks, it was the shoreline that held me entranced. It seemed like the entire lake was rock covered and blasted out of a rock base. Most of the rock was placed there by man, but somehow Mother Nature had molded her landscape, embedding this jewel into a rock casing in the middle of the bald prairie. I recommend you take your paddle in hand and search out this treasure.