irony

This past weekend, Gord, Ced, T and I went canoe-camping on a nature reserve up north. The weather was amazing, there were lots of loons, mosquitoes, black flies and Tolkien references.

We had a great time, and even got to witness a Gord Story first hand.

(Gord Story: an anecdote about Gord doing something that lacks forethought, ending up damaging his body or property. Example: Gord once shot his VCR with a crossbow, out of boredom. Gord once blew up a big firecracker in his closed fist. And so on.)

The stillness and wild beauty of the place were awesome, and it was wonderful not logging on or hearing a single beep of anything electronic for three days. We were only disturbed by a loud bunch of scouts, which we dubbed The Orcs. However, we quickly overtook them on the first portage on Saturday and were rid of them for the rest of the day.

On Sunday, just past the far point of our loop, we came upon some rapids, in the middle of which was a large treetrunk. Ced and Gord went first, in Gord’s canoe. They weren’t in the rapids two seconds when Ced yells, “WE’RE HEADING RIGHT FOR IT!!!”. Not half a second later,

CRASH!

They smash into the trunk and both get catapulted out of the canoe with their gear (hilarious in retrospect, but quite unnerving at the time). I’m talking packs, tent, sleeping bags, my camp stove, everything. The canoe starts rolling between the rocks like a twig, with sick sounds of fiberglass smashing. Then they go around the bend and T and I can’t see them anymore.

Irony: the Orcs come out and save them, and give them a big roll of tape to fix Gord’s canoe.

Now I’m tanned, sore, covered in bugbites and incredibly refreshed.