Knocked Silly Sapsucker

I was sure this Yellow-bellied Sapsucker was a goner after hitting the window. Totally limp and unresponsive when I picked him up with his head hanging, I thought for sure I'd just be holding him while he died. Then his eyelid flickered.

I took him out into the May sunshine and shielding him from the cold wind let the sun warm him.

As signs of life returned I had my father snap these shots. I took the final one of him after he flew to the cherry tree. Since there was a happy ending I did the drawing above for fun; ballpoint pen about 5"x 7".

Attack of the Flying Canoe

“Attack of the Flying Canoe”

Legends of flying canoes have a long and widespread history. The Kula of New Guinea, the Cowichan of British Columbia and the Passamaquoddy of Maine to mention a few, all have stories of characters singing and chanting to their canoes in order to sail through the air and amaze their friends. Not to be outdone, European settlers in North America combined such stories with religious parables. As usually related, eight lonely French Canadian loggers fly home for New Year’s Eve by striking a deal with the Devil (a painting of this story graces the label of a particularly good brand of strong Québec beer).

I am familiar with that Québec beer and with the legend of the flying canoe. However, I had no idea as Gary McGuffin and I headed into interior Labrador this past October that we would experience our own story of the Flying Canoe.

Gary and I were two of eight artists from the Wilderness River Expedition Art Foundation (WREAF) on an expedition sponsored by the Canadian Wildlife Federation. Our goal was to intercept the George River caribou herd on its migration as part of WREAF’s on-going Boreal Forest conservation and exhibition project with the Smithsonian’s Arctic Studies Center. Also on the crew was Tony Jenkinson, co-founder of the Tshikapisk Foundation (http://www.tshikapisk.ca/) with whom we wanted to help develop Innu based eco-tourism. Tshikapisk invited us to spend two weeks at their nascent eco-tourist camp on Lake Kamestastin (Mistastin on most maps) where for thousands of years the Innu have awaited the caribou.

The Boreal Forest is the largest terrestrial ecosystem on Earth and caribou are an important indicator species of its overall health. Lake Kamestastin, an ancient meteorite crater, provides enough shelter for an island of forest to thrive in the tundra, creating a wildlife magnet that draws the caribou during migration. The expedition was a great success with bears, wolves, golden eagles, gyr-falcons, profound landscape, a deep sense of history and thousands of caribou (details at http://www.wreaf.org/).

The fabled “Flying Canoe” waited until the very end to manifest itself. 50 mph winds gusting to 70 mph delayed our departure for two days. The second morning with the gale at full strength, we discovered that Tshikapisk’s aluminum canoe was missing. Happily, the wind was shrieking out of the west across 13 miles of lake and the eastern shore was only a mile away. While the others sipped coffee in the cabins, Gary suggested we try to recover the errant canoe. Tony promised us pancakes as a reward for a successful mission.

Walking was easy (I actually had to control my speed up a steep slope) but with the spray and waves, the buffeting of the wind and the tears in my eyes, glassing for the boat was not. We reached the outlet and the start of the Kamestastin River - no canoe. Pulling our hoods tight, we faced the wind for the return to camp. Despite the sharp sting of the driven snow pellets and sleet, the wildness of it all was exhilarating. We had only gone a few hundred yards when I heard Gary call out. There ahead of us was the shiny prow of a canoe amongst the rocks. Swamped and on boulders it was in danger of being wrecked, though it must have only just arrived as the damage was yet light.

With difficulty, we managed to empty the ton of water out of it and work it to shore. Reaching the stony beach, I was along the leeside gunwale as a strong gust hit and I heard an alarmed exclamation from Gary. Turning, the image of the flying canoe (rapidly on its way to 70 mph) barely had time to register in my brain before it crashed into me like a linebacker. I took the hit full in the face and chest with no chance to break my fall or protect the back of my head, as I slammed onto the stones and sand. After knocking me flat, to add insult to injury the canoe bounced off my head before continuing on its way inland.

I was stunned but the virtues of a thick skull were apparent, as I was generally fine. We secured the canoe above the spring ice line and returned to camp and our pancake reward; me with a new appreciation for how big a flying 17-foot canoe is.

Back home after cleaning gear and sorting photos, I was working on a painting of caribou crossing a ridge under the rising moon when it hit me; the Flying Canoe flattening me had been an appropriate finish for our adventure since in Innu, “Kamestastin” roughly means, “Place Where the Wind Knocks Things Down”.

I found it ... again!

I think I must rank as one of the worst "bloggers" out here in the ether. After focusing on losing a blog and finding one in the last posting (or somewhere near it) on this site, I went and lost the entire thing for over 2 years.

Fast recap: George River expedition was fantastic (more later...maybe)
Rio Grande in Dec '06/Jan '07 - great fun, big swim in grade IV whitewater.
July '07 expedition on Lake Superior helped establish the Lake Superior National
Marine Conservation Area in Canada; the largest expanse of protected freshwater
on Earth
Winter Walk '08 was the toughest trip I've done.
Slate Islands, Sept '08
Kamestastin Labrador with the Smithsonian and Innu sponsored by Canadian
Wildlife Federation Oct '08; fantastic with thousands of caribou

The Great Wheels are finally rolling

"Stream Light" 7"x12" acrylic
For nearly two years I have been working with some folks at the Smithsonian's National Museum of Natural History (NMNH) on developing an exhibition of art, science and adventure highlighting the Boreal Forest; largest terrestrial ecosystem in the world and the greatest wilderness on Earth. It took almost 18 months to arrange one key meeting and another 6 months for the fruits of that meeting to get out of the bud stage. This last week they came into flower so to speak. I now have more work to do than ever, but at least there is motion. Happened to occur in full accordance with the Peter Principle though. After months of inactivity it is now all in a rush, at the same time I have to write a proposal for a major sponsor/partner in four days....it's like being back in college with papers galore to write. I have managed to finish some artwork. The attendant painting was recently done and sold last weekend.

"........and I have three horribly ugly children....."

Are you waiting for that beaming gameshow contestant who when Pat Sejac asks for their 10 second bio before they spin the big wheel, DOESN'T have "...two beautiful children" at home? Maybe something along the lines of, "Yes Pat, I'm married to a fat lazy ______ and have 8 spoiled ugly brats back home. I know they're all watching tonight, but if I win I'm ditching the lot of em!" Of course one thing that is sillier than redundantly adjectifying your kids with some glowing desriptive on national TV, is being bothered by such harmless expressions of love and pride. Makes me a bit of a curmudgeon I guess. Still, I'd spurt beer out of my nose if someone actually did air the dirty laundry on Wheel of Fortune.

I incidentally have two wonderful daughters.

Run Whimbrel Run

One of the funnier shots I took yesterday at Crystal Cove State Park north of Laguna Beach, CA. This bird (a Whimbrel) is an example of the far reaching importance of the Boreal Forest. Whimbrels breed in open tundra and winter along the coast of the US and Mexico. Boreal Forest rivers and wetlands are important stopover points for many species of tundra nesters. I've seen many shorebirds during migration along rivers of the north.

It took 15 years, but I made it.

"River's End" 18"x 24" acrylic. From my campsite September 11, 2001. My canoe half unloaded before being put up for the night. This is a companion piece of sorts to the Sandhill Crane painting below (2 posts ago). It was done from a field painting I did on the scene while I tended to my dinner cooking on the fire. The scene is looking back upstream along the last of the Missinaibi River from Portage Island. Out of sight to the left is the Mattagami River. Portage Island is in the midst of the confluence of the two rivers. Downstream of the island according to cartographers is the Moose River. The next morning I dutifully shared a toast of whiskey with the river as I left the Missinaibi behind, 15 years and 3 months after my father and I had paddled the southern section of the river. I had decided to do the entire river then. It was a bit sad being there by myself, but being a personal goal, maybe appropriate to have reached it alone.

The Plan: Source to Salt

The last post was kind of heavy, and mostly canoe expeditions are great fun, so I wanted to move along with a new post....two in one day. This painting is "Devil's Cap Falls" August 30, 2001; 16"x 28" acrylic, on the Missinaibi River. The Missinaibi flows for 300 miles from a bit north and east of Lake Superior to its confluence with the Mattagami, where they form the Moose. The Moose flows for 50 miles to Moosonee (the largest town in Canada unconnected to civilization by road), and another 10 miles to James Bay. I had paddled the upper (southern -- it flows north) part of the river three times, variously with my father, brother and ex-wife. I had wanted to paddle the entire river for several years, but something always seemed to come up.

"Devil's Cap Falls" acrylic by Rob Mullen

Finally in the fall of 2000 I decided I was going come heck or high water; I wasn't getting any younger, though at 44 I was still reasonably strong and fit. The Missinaibi flows across remote country on the Canadian Shield to the small town of Mattice, Ontario where the northern spur of the Trans Canada Highway crosses. North of Mattice the real wilderness starts, with no access to humanity until the Cree village of Moose River, 170 miles away. 35 miles north of Mattice, the river dramatically plunges off the Shield onto the Hudson Bay Lowlands through Thunderhouse Gorge.

At the reception for Art of the Animal Kingdom in June of '01, fellow Vermont artist John Pitcher asked if he could come. He is a highly regarded painter but had little whitewater canoeing experience. However, he has extensive experience in wilderness travel and being a Vietnam combat veteran, I figured he'd be up to about anything. As you can see above, he can paint. That is a self portrait he did of a rapid he changed his mind on and let me run both boats.

I had planned on going alone and only had a solo canoe that was good for wilderness travel, so we needed another boat. I had paddled a Mad River Courier for years and Mad River Canoe Company was a local Vermont company (just bought out by Confluence Water Sports at about that time), so I called them up hoping for a discount on a demo or something. Got the President on the phone and he offered to give us two new canoes...GIVE! I was shocked. Mad River Canoe Company has sponsored me ever since.
"Change of Mind" acrylic by John Pitcher

John and I had a tough time with very low water which created numerous rocky rapids where normally the current was smooth, and made many of the known rapids difficult because of the narrow rocky passages such as in John's painting. We had a good time though and the river was beautiful even if rough going. We made it to Mattice in 9 days; 130 miles. In Mattice John decided to head home. He was having great difficulty with his hands going numb from the constant and difficult paddling....... a disconcerting malady for a painter. I tussled with my qualms about going on alone over beers in the local bar. After 3 bottles (or so) I decided to continue. It had been one thing to bravely talk of going solo at dinner parties and show receptions. Actually facing the prospect of being alone in a total wilderness for 170 miles was a different matter. But Mad River Canoe Co. was supporting the trip and I had gotten a magazine to promise a story of nationally known artists going from Source to Salt on a deep wilderness river to the Arctic Ocean. Somehow I didn't think it would bode well for continuing these trips (as I was already dreaming of) if both of us went home early. Some fool had to finish it.