“…if we pay no attention to it, time does not exist…” – Mircea Eliade

5 days, 4 nights, 207 km by canoe. But all that really mattered was the distance because somewhere along the way time lost its meaning.

There was only the ritual.

All the way from the cold, clear, hard-charging mountain waters in Hudson’s Hope, B.C. to the wide, slow moving, muddy waters at Many Islands Provincial Park, AB it was the same.

Wake. Drink. Eat. Pack. Load. Paddle. Unload. Set up. Eat. Drink. Sleep. Repeat.

We would crawl out of the tent, stretch and fetch water to boil for coffee and breakfast. Then we’d breakdown camp, pack the gear into the dry bags and load the canoe before pushing off into the morning fog.

Then we would dip our paddles into the water and propel ourselves along with the current. Ever eastward. Passed shear rock cliffs, dense forests, rolling hills, sandstone bluffs and prairie flats. Alongside beavers and deer and the ever-present bald eagles.

Each day some new treasure was revealed. A thunderstorm rattling the ground underneath us as we huddled in the tent. A black bear in the late afternoon heat, scrambling down a hillside to cool itself in the water. A hidden waterfall, cascading out from a limestone outcropping and down mossy steps. A golden eagle soaring high overhead, then swooping over the canoe to its perch on a bankside tree.

Then we would arrive at the next camp and stop paddling. Unload the canoe. Unpack the dry bags. Set up the tent. Fetch water for supper. Gather firewood. Eat and sit around the fire, watching the stars with a bottle of wine until we finally succumbed to sleep.

And somewhere in there things like minutes, hours and days became abstract ideas. Everything melded together and a single day could seem like a week or an hour.

It was if time could be overcome.