hertha

Linda and I recently embarked on a three-day Moose Safari via canoe in Algonquin Park. It was one of those ideas that seemed brilliant in the warmth of our kitchen, attractive because of the opportunity to see and photograph moose in the wild, but ignoring the realities that come with the adventure: the rain, bugs and dampness that tightens aging muscles. Our dreams were written in the map of Algonquin spread out across the table, we traced our fingers over the blue veins of rivers and lakes, imagining ourselves gliding serenely in our canoe across the mirrored surfaces, silent watchers of the wilderness.

Our safari started June 7th, on Canoe Lake, sparkling under the morning sun like a promise. We were to end on Tom Thomson Lake, after about fourteen kilometres hyphenated by one portage. It sounded so straightforward when we planned it but reality, as it so often does, had its own agenda.

We were paired with a group of twenty-somethings, all bursting with the kind of energy that radiates from youth. They were lean, sinewy, their paddles cutting through the water with a precision and speed that left us trailing in their wake.

The pace they set was more than we could sustain, though Linda and I tried valiantly to keep up. Each stroke of the paddle felt heavier, our muscles burning in silent protest. I could feel the years pressing down on me, the weight of my own expectations adding to the strain. I should have known better; the signs had been there, subtle yet undeniable, whispering to me that I couldn’t do everything I used to. Recognition is the first step, they say. Acceptance should follow. But pride is a stubborn thing, clinging to us like the burs that stuck to our clothes after a day in the woods.

The limitations cast upon us aren’t doled out in one shot; they creep up on us, a gradual erosion of what once seemed immutable. In my case, I can still paddle a canoe, but not at the same pace as I could thirty years ago. Getting in and out of a tent is a little more difficult.

In a sense, this is one of the nice things about the club we belong to, made up mostly of retirees. For those of us who want to stay active, there are many options available to do so, from walking with PaceMakers to cycling, all with people who understand the aches and pains that visit us every so often. There is a camaraderie in shared experience, a quiet understanding that does not need to be spoken. We move at a similar pace, our activities tempered by the wisdom of knowing our own bodies, our own limits.

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