Following winding waters into the Nova Scotia backcountry, a small party trades the assurances of city routine for the candid demands of canvas, paddle, and fire, discovering that companionship, patience, and a tolerant humor can turn rain, insects, and uncertainty into the quiet satisfactions of a simpler life. 

These are the first words in the introduction to “Tent Dwellers” written in 1908 by Albert Bigelow Paine. Set in the wild lakes and forests of exactly where we are, it tells the story of a canoe fishing and camping trip undertaken for enjoyment and solitude. 

Those words, written nearly 120 years ago, could not be more appropriate to our journey. In fact, we will set out in our canoes from the exact same location recorded in the books. Their goal of finding solace and building companionship in the wilderness are in line with our goals, and their forced humor found during storms and insect swarms ring true to our tale as well. 

We backpack often, we canoe/kayak occasionally. Since kids, we have never put those joys together. After reading about the Kejimkujik Wilderness online, I fell in love with the idea of getting “lost” in the Nova Scotia interior. The best way to do this is by canoe. I found a nice set of lakes and rivers that seem to make more or less of a loop. You’ll need to get out and carry your canoe at times through the forest to the next lake, but if given enough time, I think we can make it back to the bus with a bit of hard work and a lot of adventure. 

Day 1: I dropped Amy and Fitz at the trailhead and returned to grab a shuttle with the others. Our first portage came immediately and by the time I made it back to the parking lot, Amy and Fitz had made three trips back and forth 400 meters to the lakeshore. When I arrived with the boats, it was only a matter of strapping them to some wheels and pushing them down the trail. Once we loaded up, in perfect weather, we finally pushed off floating between homes for a couple nights… Tent Dwellers. 

We had stopped by the visitor center to get the special fishing license required. They told me one rule: every single fish must be released, except the Pickerel! If you catch a pickerel you are required by law to keep and kill it. It took about five minutes for us to catch our first fish, and to our chagrin, a chain pickerel! We decide since we have to cull it anyway, we might as well eat it for dinner.

We pull up to our next portage, a 750 meter drudge through the woods pushing the canoe trailer wheels over roots and rocks that often stop you in your tracks and require a offensive lineman like burst to overcome. The sweats were beaten by a quick dip in the lake, Fitz would hold a rope and float along. Every time we saw a giant snapping turtle it would put an end to the swimming long enough to forget about the huge snapping turtle we just saw, but our memory was short for the water here was especially warm. Even after purification the water here has a dark color, almost like tea. But not for the same reasons as in Newfoundland where the iron tints the water, here it’s actually tea, the tannins from nearby foliage seep into the water giving it a dark color. What will soon make for an unpleasant looking drinking water will also create a lake so dark that it heats from solar energy. I just assumed all lakes in Canada were cold, but this was a perfect reprise from the constant exercise. 

Eventually we spit out of a tiny stream into an expansive lake and pull around to a small calm cove where site five waits patiently. We carried some firewood this far so we have a grand fire because we are not carrying firewood any further. We had six good pickerel filets all cleaned up and we tossed them over the fire. We each ate exactly one bite before we realized why the locals don’t really take advantage of the seemingly unlimited free protein. We got to page three reading aloud from Tent Dwellers before exhaustion took over and we dozed off. What a perfect spot to spend the night, exactly what I pictured. Trees, lake, family.

Day 2: For weeks, weather predictors have been calling for a storm today. The radar shows a front going all the way from South Carolina up through the north coast of Nova Scotia. It’s starting to feel like we are being blessed with perfect weather non stop for weeks on end until the very days I wish for sun the most. I set up an extensive tarp network to cover us through a storm for up to 24 hours if needed. 

I woke up to the breeze of perfect weather and the fear of what must be coming. How quick can we break camp and set off. As if a nod to our expert decision making, once all the gear was wrapped up and waterproof and the canoes were loaded up, the rains began right as we pushed off from shore. A light sprinkle would turn into a moderate rain, threatening to go full storm but after fifteen minutes the rains stopped. Brief drizzles would return throughout the day always shortly trading off with clear skies. The storms never came, worried locals had already canceled and so the wilderness was ours. 

We paddled along, alternating between carrying the boat and the boat carrying us down past Frozen Ocean Lake and onto Channel Lake where, along the shore, sat our next home, Site Nine. 

The main difference between us and the original Tent Dwellers is that for us, an itinerary is required and a map will direct us precisely to the lone spot we are allowed to camp tonight rather than flying by the wind and settling wherever seems to suit you. Reservations are a necessary evil here, and one that encourages me to seek out these areas. I wonder if I would have been as adventurous in the times of exploration, the romanticized idea seems like a dream. Set off and explore new lands. Truthfully, the safety of the existing map and knowing that these campsites have been settled before probably keeps me coming back. 

Heading down a stream we saw the only people we would see all day, they were getting out of the stream in a strange spot. I slow down to inquire, the parents of this family of four felt the waters ahead were too difficult and dangerous to manage and they were portaging around the rocks. They also mentioned they are canoe guides. This is the type of luck I rely on because I was about to full send. 

After a dinner of Ramen, we take out a canoe to catch some more Pickerel. To the joy of the local conservation rangers, Everest is a Pickerel Terminator. Every time his lure hit the water a Pickerel would acquiesce. The kids  kept track of each catch in a log that the ranger asked them to keep, it helps them track the how the invasive fish is completely taking over the Keji waterways. 

In the evening, or as close as we could get,  we all settled in. In my tent Fitz held my phone on his belly and we watched Masters of the Universe. I saw about seven seconds but the kids claim they loved it. 

Day 3: Our pre-trip research mentioned that the wind in our final lake could be brutal and if it looks windy out there, do not attempt unless you have a couple experienced paddlers. The issue is this will add another half kilometer portage to shorten. If we portage east over Indian Point into Jeremy’s bay, we can use the new land on our east to block the wind for most of the way, but eventually we will need to cross the open lake to reach our shore. I had been wishing I asked the guides with kids their thoughts. Luckily as I was cleaning up tents, they caught up to us again. They were going to play it by ear, they gave us a pretty stern warning though. The weather looked stunning, sun everywhere. In a still image you wouldn’t even have a sense that the wind was in control. We played it safe and took the extra portage and were rewarded in turn. Not only were the eastward winds nullified but the wind that did form here was at our backs and pushing on quickly along. When I saw the other family ahead, I knew we made the right choice. 

Although the waves got large at times they often just carried us towards our destination. Even as we crossed the open section, Poseidon was on team Hartman. There was a brief moment when coming around a point where the currents collided in a strange way, Amy’s boat would get beached from the wind and waves blowing her to shore, her mishap allowed us to plan a wider turn which required a huge push of strength. Once in the safety of the cove, the wind again joined in the push and shoved us along which was good because my shoulders had just quit. After days of carrying canoes between lakes then returning to carry bags, then returning to carry bags again, the shoulders are what gave out first. 

Fitz steered us masterfully through the final stretch of water. If we were tired we would hold our paddles up like a sail and catch enough wind that you could barely tell the difference in speed. 

After a trip like this, I like to reflect on the packing and preparation and it appears that the only item we carried and didn’t use was the entire bag of bug spray, bug repellent, other bug spray, perimeter bug spray, deep forest bug spray, and the ThermCell mosquito repelling machine. On our last weekend in Canada, the bugs have finally granted us safe passage. If the bugs were there, we were either too sore to feel them bite or too exhausted to stay up for their dinnertime. That is all the wasted weight, that and the random hackey sack I threw in at the last second and forgot about.  On the flip side, our tents are so ultralight that they have no poles, they rely on you bringing hiking poles to serve the purpose. For some reason I consciously left the poles home because who needs hiking poles when you’re canoeing! I got halfway through setting up the first tent when panic ensued, Amy realized what it was the instant I yelped. This could have been a total disaster leading to our cowboy camping through the night under a tarp. Luckily the paddles were 48 inches… the exact same length required to set a tent. Our complaints earlier in the day about how short the paddles were was now a reason to rejoice. In some ways the paddles held better than the poles. Regardless, that’s some careless packing that I am not known for. Amy said this is on par with my greatest screw up ever, dumping our entire dinner out onto the ground and going hungry. This was worse because prep is usually my strong suit, it’s the work that gets me, oh, and the straining of noodles, sorry Amy. 

This was another in a line of wilderness adventures that push our comfort levels and seem to strengthen our bond as a family. If all we do is create unique memories that have each other as the main characters, then I’ll be happy. Seeing the kids eagerly fill up their arms to help with the portage was enough for me but then seeing Everest scurrying behind his siblings picking up the gear that they cast off as they realize they actually can’t carry that much weight really made my trip.

The entire trip every menu we see offers Digby Scallops, I couldn’t remember where I heard the name Digby before. It all makes sense now as we are pulling into Digby to find our campsite with a shower tonight. I order the Scallops Three Ways because, when in Rome and all that, but more so because I love scallops. Both the entire population of scallops and my aging body are thankful I do not live anywhere near Digby. 

We just pulled up to camp and the kids ran off to the playground 12 feet away, I heard a young kid from the tent only seven feet away emerge and proclaim, “I can tell a new friend when I see one.” He and Fitz have been off playing for hours now. The two extremes of camping, and I love them both.