Latest Installment in the Canoeing Saga

It was a very warm, though breezy day, and as we walked along the beach we constantly had to turn our heads against the blowing sand. Mobi frolicked along, bounding from sand to water. I carried my shoes and camera in my hand and likewise alternated my steps between the cool water and the coarse sand, though in a more subdued manner than Mobi’s reckless tearing around. We walked a good portion of the nearly deserted beach, seeing a cluster of small figures in the distance that appeared to be a couple of dogs and their human. After the cool, wet days of camping in Northern Minnesota, we were all happy to be out in the sun. It had heated up enough for us to leave my cotton cardigan and Juan’s outerwear back in the canoe, and while the wind and dark clouds in the distance heralded a change in weather soon, it seemed likely that we’d have time to get back to the car before the storm hit.

As we headed back towards the spot where we’d left the canoe, I was a little ahead of Juan at that point, and thought it would be funny to say something like “Hey, where’s the canoe?” in an alarmed voice. But turning a slight bend in the beach and upon closer inspection, I realized that I really didn’t see it there and my question turned from mirth to true concern. We looked at each other in shock, and even after it was clearly apparent that there was no red canoe to be seen, just kept walking dumbfounded to the spot where it had been. Standing on the bare beach, panic struck us both at the same time. I ran towards the water, scanning it for any sign that our canoe had somehow come to rest on the bottom. Juan, meanwhile was looking around frantically, saying “someone stole it,” “someone stole our canoe.” I dismissed the idea, considering there was no one around and why on earth would anyone do that anyway? It could have been some teenagers playing a prank, he reasoned. Needing to do something, I began to make my way towards the nearest house, whose backyard included the beach where our tragedy had struck. There were several cars in the yard, making it hard to tell if anyone was home. Walking through their yard, I felt like a trespasser, but I had to make contact with someone. I guess at this point I was going to ask if they had seen a red canoe on the beach, as if that would help. I knocked on the door several times, and although I could hear a dog barking inside, no one came out to meet me. I then started wondering- what if they had stolen our canoe and were really hiding inside waiting for me to go away?

I made my way back to the beach, thinking of how inaccessible we were from anything else. We had just been marveling at the isolation of the beach, as there was no direct access from the road. Only those who lived next to it could get here. What if Juan was right? What if someone had stolen our canoe and was watching us now? Even worse, how would we get back to the car? It was early in the afternoon in the middle of the week. I could go from house to house and find no one at home. My cell phone had been left back in the car, since I didn’t expect to need it on our excursion. As I was just reaching Juan, he exclaimed excitedly “I see it!” “I see it!” “Where??” I asked in disbelief. “Out there,” he said, as he pointed far out on the horizon to a tiny red speck that was bobbing up and down in the waves.

I literally sank to the ground in dismay. It was at least a mile out to into the lake. How were we going to get it? How could this have happened? The canoe had been a wedding present to us from my parents, and at that moment I felt totally unworthy of any gifts from anyone- we didn’t deserve to have nice things. We couldn’t even have a canoe for a full year before losing it to Lake Superior. As I tearfully despaired, Juan kept his eye on the canoe. I couldn’t even look at it, so I looked on down the beach to that cluster of figures we saw earlier. They were closer by now and clearly distinguished themselves as a man and two dogs. I jumped up and took off down the beach with Mobi tearing off in front of me.