Return to the Shelburn: Third Time’s a Charm

by Tim O’Brien

In my last article, I wrote about wrecking my canoe while doing a solo on the Shelburne River in August of 2023. I pinned on a rock a little way below Irving Lake, and my canoe was fully wrapped (literally folded in two and inside out. Thanks to the kindness of strangers, I got a ride to Caledonia, and my son picked me up. Embarrassed, depressed and more than a bit ticked off, I swore I was never going back in the woods EVER AGAIN!

I was back at the DNR Bridge in October, this time with my son Aidan and my hiking partner Other-Other-Tim. He’s not to be confused with my regular canoeing partner Other-Tim. (You’ve heard of the Four Jacks? Well, we’re the three Tims). The plan was to hike the road to the old bridge, where the Shelburne enters Sand Lake and make a base camp. From there we would follow the overgrown logging road up towards Irving Lake and locate my canoe. Bonus points would be awarded if we could retrieve my gear caches I left behind in August. 

It was a gorgeous, sunny, not too warm day, and I marvelled at how different my attitude was as we hiked along. I’m sure the colours of the leaves and the company helped. Even with a heavy pack, I was far more positive and optimistic than the last time I walked that road. This time, instead of just the essentials, I was carrying regular camping gear, and also an axe, saw, chest waders, PFD, 100’ of 3/4” rope, and a full unpinning kit (carabiners, pulleys, prussic; the works). I even had canoe wheels and extra bags, in anticipation of getting the canoe off the rock and of finding my gear staches.

Once we set up camp at Sand Lake in mid afternoon, we headed upstream and then bushwacked to the ridge where I had camped out and left a cache. Everything seemed in good shape, and we thought it was a good omen for the next day. We returned to camp, had supper and turned in early. The next morning, we were up early and ready to go. 

We took only the wheels, rescue equipment, and our lunches as we headed up the overgrown logging road roughly parallelling the river. Because I didn’t know exactly where I had wiped out, and because there was a possibility that the canoe might have floated off and gone downstream, we cut across from the road to the river further downstream than we needed to. We then headed up the riverbank keeping our eyes peeled for the canoe, and also for my pack and for the gear cache I had left on an island. 

There was no sign of my daypack, and I didn’t recognise the island where my other gear was. We came to the canoe and were happy to find it still sitting on the rock and happier to see that the water level was a good eighteen inches lower, putting the canoe high, if not dry. It was about 1/8 full of water. I was also happy to see that the boat had partially regained its shape; the wonders of Royalex. I was relieved that other than the rope, none of the gear we brought would be necessary.

I stripped down and waded out to the canoe and bailed it out using a drybag. I tied off the rope and tossed it ashore and Aidan and Other-Other Tim easily pulled it to land. We trussed up the canoe like a turkey and dragged and carried it about 400m to the overgrown road. We quickly realised that we were not going to be able to use the wheels in this area and we were not only tired but also worried about rain and oncoming darkness. I made the decision to leave the canoe tied to a tree and come back for it another time. 

That fall was busy, and I was grieving the death of a close friend. I decided to ring in New Year by hiking in to Sand Lake to get the canoe. Due to the number of deadfalls and my own mental exhaustion, I quit the recovery attempt and decided to just relax. I knew the boat would still be there and I could make another attempt.

The next attempt was in March, when I hiked with Other Tim (my canoe partner Tim) to Sand Lank. He had to leave the next day and I continued on to find the canoe as we’d left it in October; the only difference being that a porcupine had chewed through the rope tying it to the tree. I dragged the canoe a kilometer or two up to a clear part of the road where I could finally use the canoe wheels. I camped overnight, celebrating my fifty-first birthday with cake and chocolate and good coffee.

The next day saw me hauling the canoe down to Sand Lake and the day after I pulled it to the DNR Bridge on the Mersey. I spent the night there and I celebrated with steak and potatoes and my last piece of cake and chocolate. That night it poured rain, and the next morning there were snow squalls. At noon, I decided to pack up and hike out towards the highway.

Sometime around dusk my son showed up and met me on the road. We carefully strapped the canoe on top of the care and headed back to Halifax. He asked me why I worked to hard to get the canoe out since it was junked: wooden gunnels, decks and seats destroyed; a nine-inch tear; several cracks and some fold lines that looked catastrophic. I explained to him that part of it was nature stewardship; not leaving trash in the woods; but also, that my sense of accomplishment helped to make up for my failure the previous summer. As to whether I could fix the canoe, I was going to need some expert advice. 

….to be continued.