After a night of rain and with rain promised for the morrow, a calm has befallen my region of Nova Scotia. Looking out my dining room window, I see the river lies calm while the thermometer reads eight degrees. A brief conversation with my Dad and it is agreed that a paddle up river is in need.

A short time later I find myself seated in the bow of a lightweight Kevlar boat. It is termed a pro boat by North Americans due to it being the boat of choice by athletes in the top Canadian and American races. Measuring eighteen and a half feet long, the canoe is asymmetrical in design and is often mistaken for a kayak by the inexperienced, as decking covers the middle in an effort to keep waves and splashes out. Designed to go straight and fast, the pro boat sacrifices the initial stability of a conventional canoe as well as the ease of turning. As can be imagined these two factors can cause considerable difficulty for beginners as they adjust to the subtle reactions needed to maintain a smooth boat. With lightweight paddles pulling smoothly through the water, their smaller blades designed to reduce energy output, their efficiency only furthered with the bend where the shaft meets the blade, we approach the first bend in the river.

At what age I looked at a river not only as a body of water, but as something that flows and follows rules like anything else, I could not tell you. It may be that I've always looked upon water knowing that it will react certain ways under certain conditions. I do remember at a fairly young age standing beside my Dad looking upon a set of rapids and explaining to him how a canoe and a person might possibly make it through dry. After he had listened to my plan, he showed me a different angle, which after considering I recall agreeing with him. No one ever ran that set that I remember but it remains an early memory of "choosing a channel". Over time other lessons followed such as leaning downstream, something firmly reinforced this early March, how to predict where the current was going to flow, and the amazingly frustrating art of paddling upstream.

Today, with the rules of the river in my head and years of watching or paddling with Dad I know just how we'll approach and hug the inside corner. A slight increase in the strength put out through my upper body and the canoe glides through the fast section at the corner without losing any speed. I have to check myself that I don't paddle too hard. With the season still early, it is a time to work on technique and strategy while toning muscles left unused aside from weights and basic everyday use.

Moving upstream we concentrate on the simple yet difficult marathon paddle stroke. The basics of which follow. The paddle enters the water at the full extension of the bottom arm in a downward or sideways motion, depending on what feels best and water conditions, while the top arm remains slightly bent and at a height below ones nose. Termed 'the catch', the beginning of the stroke is the part in which, even years later, people seek perfection in; it also leads into the power phase. In the second part or power phase, the canoeist draws his lower arm back, ideally untwisting his body so as to utilize the larger back muscles as opposed to one's arms. The final part of the stroke, termed the recovery, begins at the canoeists' waist where the power phase ends. As the paddle exits the water, it is turned so the blade's edge cuts through the air, thus reducing air pressure on the blade and, therefore, conserving energy and strength. This final stage leads back into the catch, thus completing the short cycle often described as a circular stroke. While it would seem simple, it becomes more involved as people move up in caliber and find themselves seeking that competitive edge denied to them despite being stronger or possessing equal equipment.

Improvements in the catch, body posture during the entire stroke, the speed of the recovery, and switching sides are only a few areas people find themselves improving. In addition to the basic stroke one quickly learns there is a variety of other strokes, all based on the one explained above but modified. An example is how when paddling in shallow water, approximately four to eight inches in depth, the rpms increase dramatically as opposed to the standard of 60 - 70 strokes per minute.

Gliding along I feel a relaxation spread through my body despite my muscles being in constant motion. The feel of the paddle as it enters the water and how in less than a second it is flicked out of the water at my waist in an effortless movement of my wrist, instills in me a sense of calm that is not otherwise easily obtained. Here, in the bow or stern of these canoes, my mind will drift through past memories of travels and events. Often, thoughts of friends will emerge amongst others and I'll find myself wondering what life will be like next year or ten years down the road. None of these thoughts usually last long enough to evolve into anything major but often times I'll reach a decision, to do something or to go somewhere that prior to paddling I was indecisive about. Other times I file away thoughts for a time when I can do something about them.

Passing under an old towering tree, I remember the time during the past summer when Brad and I jumped out of its upper branches. The rush we experienced as we approached the water, that feeling of just falling with no dominant emotion, came back to me without warning.

"Hut!" The word cuts through my mind like a knife and, in an almost unconscious motion, I have switched sides. The thought that Dad may have called the command once before I acknowledged runs through my head and in turn I concentrate more on technique, forcing myself to hear his signal. It is for this reason that when I'm in these canoes my thoughts don't usually result in long - term plans.

The word "Hut", which was just used to tell me to switch sides, was developed, I believe, by a man by the name of Gene Jensen. I once read an article about it but I'm afraid my memory fails me, other than to remember that the word was taken from an army marching tune and is used in the place of "switch sides". The benefits are more obvious as the intensity of the race gains momentum and "Hut!" requires less breath than "Change Sides!" or "Switch!".

This brings me to another major point, which seems very logical to me, yet discuss it around many people, particularly those in sprint paddling, and they will look at you as though your insane. As has been strongly hinted at marathon paddlers switch sides when paddling. This technique, possible as a result of sitting down, allows the boat to track straighter as well as keeping both paddlers rested on either side. Steering the boat is largely controlled through this practice of switching sides. As the boat will generally go left with the stern paddler on the right side, and vice versa, than slight corrections can be performed with little need of the traditional recreational paddle strokes. This technique is much less tiring after 20km. In the case of a winding river, the technique of having both paddlers paddle on one side is often used. Given the nature of the sport, an efficient switch from one side of the canoe to the other is needed if one hopes to maintain speed. This is accomplished by sliding one's hands along the paddle shaft so that they interchange places and in an ideal change over, the arms will be properly positioned on the paddle for the start of the next stroke. The whole process takes no longer than the time it takes to complete a normal paddle stroke so as not to interrupt the rhythm of the canoe and occurs as needed for steering, or approximately every twelve to fifteen strokes.

Paddling along, I find myself marveling at the variety of scenery the river offers as spring changes to summer and the water levels drop. While now we paddle in water almost over my head, the image of forcing a path through reeds taller than me when I'm sitting in this same location flows through my head.

As we round the last bend to look out over Grand Lake, I can't help but marvel at its beauty. Grand Lake could best be described as moody. Some days it may be as calm as glass while others see it casting waves several feet in height along the shore. The traditional rule of bodies of water such as this one being calm in the morning only holds true part of the time. As the day wears on, one is usually guaranteed wave action. Today though at 2:00pm the lake is as calm as glass. A slight mist hangs over the entire lake and we can see how a breath of wind will subtly change the fog formation. The chance to paddle in deep water on a surface smoother than the river is too great and we turn right, heading down one side of the lake. Moving in unison, the canoe is pulled through the water until I spot a childhood friend, Taylor.

Taylor always was, and to my knowledge still is, an interesting character yet sometime in grade seven we went our separate ways. We chose different roads, yet after saying hello and continuing on, I wonder how things would have worked out had we remained closer. We still share some interests but, I believe, what really distanced us was our different lifestyles. Taylor always was more spontaneous and adventuresome then I.

Glancing ahead, I see ice still covering parts of the lake. It is agreed that we should go as far as the ice before turning around. As we cross a large open area, Dad makes a comment about falling out in this water. The knowledge of not being able to make it to shore, even with lifejackets, leaves a hard ball of fear in my stomach. I allow my waterproof-gloved hands to dip into the water for a few strokes and feel how cold it is, despite the warmth of the air.

Having crossed the wide-open area, we turn and begin the trip back home, not before however reaching out and touching the ice with my gloved hand. On our way home we would find ourselves talking to someone my Dad knew growing up. Their kids were insistent that they knew how to swim and, therefore, did not require lifejackets when going out in a kayak. I hope to never have to argue the need of life jackets in cold-water activities. Even with it on, depending on the distance from shore, one could find himself dead very quickly.

The trip back seems relatively short in comparison to the length of time it took to reach our halfway point. The downstream paddling is a welcome change to fighting the high water current. Given the chance when going upstream, that current would swing the boat sideways defeating a strategy set far downstream.

After paddling for two and a half hours we arrive back at our starting point, the front yard. The river remains calm yet there is now a touch of wind in the air. The sun continues to shine down. The water that I have been drinking, off and on for the past few hours, is only three quarters gone. This is a testament to the difference in climate and the pace of a race in summer when I would normally consume twice as much liquid. Carrying the canoe to the garage I notice the hunger factor, something that has been present off and on for the past two hours. Thoughts of chocolate and other instant energy food slip through my mind and my mouth waters at the prospect of supper.

Another few hours to record in the 2002 season training log leaves me to wonder why I invest so much time in this sport given its little representation amongst the general public. It isn't the early hours in the summer or the cold hands in early April. Nor is it the feeling of not having any strength left with which to pull and keep pace with the team beside you, who appear far superior in conditioning. It certainly isn't the cold swims in late April or early May. It is difficult to say exactly what brings me back to that black paddle hanging in the garage each spring for another season except that it has to do with the challenge. The thought that this year I will be able to keep pace with the older guys who had passed me the year before and the desire to perfect strategies I did not mentioned in this piece of writing are both also likely reasons. In the past I've tried to describe to people the rush one feels as the race starts, the calmness that results after finishing a training session or the beauty the natural world presents in its variety of colours, depending on the time of day. These are all factors but perhaps most importantly is the realization that out of each race I find a type of satisfaction accomplished only after the necessary time has been invested to gain the comfort level and knowledge required to operate at a level of not physical pain but emotional, psychological, and physical enjoyment.