The Yellow Canoe

The horizon slowly concealed the sun as the early summer night was painted gold by the radiating light. The cloudless sky was painted with fiery bands of orange and yellows. The glassy lake resembled a large mirror, reflecting the beauty of the waning light. My rough wooden paddled sliced through the smooth water, cutting and distorting the replicating beauty of the sunset on the water. Our canoe glided quietly towards a small rock island, silently sailing through the mirrored waves. The rock island, like many islands that reside in the Canadian Shield, was made of sharp granite, lacking soil, and covered in sparse but gnarly white pines. The south side of the island was vertical, before climaxing at a thin walk way along the top ridge before plummeting sharply back into the water. All along the erect walls were lichens and mosses trying their very best to continue their life long tradition of growing off the steep face. They gave the rock a textured and coloured appearance, which was also mirrored off the calm water. The island was long and narrow, with only a few feet separating the adjacent steep sides. This island, with its minimal area, rough terrain, and sparse vegetation, to us was our home for the night.

The island focused in this story is a kilometre west from my parent’s house. Due to the fact some Black Crappie were caught near the island one summer, the island took on its acquired title of Crappie Island. From that day forward the name lives famously through the minds of the residents as a staple landmark in the bay. The island was climbed on, slid down, jumped off and explored. During the winter it was just a natural jungle gym for bored youth and in the summer was encircled by boats, hoping to again the namesake fish.

For all the locations to camp choosing Crappie island seemed like a foolish decision, but we had one specific reason to camp here. On the southwestern corner of the island, right on the top ridge, was a flat area no bigger than a kitchen table. This flat area was unimportant during the day, but at night, became the perfect viewing platform for the milky way. The moon was new, the sky was cloudless, and the night was young and warm. Everything was prepared to see the rim of our galaxy.

Astrophotography is a fickle art. To capture the perfect image, a balancing act of weather, moon phases, timing, location, and camera settings must all be done. As we set up camp and watched the last moments of the beautiful day, the preparations for our shoot began. Tripods set up, settings discussed, and a constant checking of the sky above us filled up the twilight hours of the night. We had a small fire, fed by the dying branches of the white pines, now illuminated in the dark night. All throughout the period of waiting, the echo of laughter belonging to some childhood friends filled the empty bay with a precious resonance. Just when the evening was building to an impressive highpoint of beauty and awe-inspiring wonder, clouds began to slowly blot out the sky, similar to large snow flakes falling and covering the worlds natural beauty in a sea of empty white. With tired eyes, and defeated hearts we looked up at the dark blank canvas we had been left with. The fire was extinguished, the laughter ceased, and the night concluded.

After a few hours of rest the familiar sounds of a far too early alarm blasted from my phone. The sky was a dark blue becoming brighter, the water covered in a light haze and the morning dew covered everything with a dampness that softened the morning. After the defeat from last evening, we were determined to make this trip a success. As the sun began to rise from its eastern horizon, the world erupted in sharp vibrant colours. Purples and blues from the dying night, reds and pinks from the new day and silhouetted shadows in the hazy mist filled the landscape with its true unedited beauty. We worked all over the island, trying to find a new vantage point hidden in the crags. For a moment of time the world was exactly as imagined. Perfect.

As quickly as the morning light rose, the early morning beauty faded. The sun raced higher into the sky, the mist burned off, the colours faded to a deep azure. As we paddled back in self reflection, I looked back at Crappie island with a child like wonderment. This island which I grew up with had shown us its true beauty that morning. Revealing itself to the lucky few.

This picture holds so many special memories inside the image and outside. Crappie Island was and still is one of my favourite fishing spots and Grassy Portage Bay on Rainy Lake, Ontario will always feel like my childhood backyard. The canoe pictured is my grandparents, a yellow kevlar canoe made in Atikokan, Ontario. This canoe has carried me, just as I have carried it, on camping trips, fishing trips and hunting trips across the area. The picture itself became the first image I printed and framed and is still proudly displayed in my parent’s bathroom. On the back of the picture I wrote that this is the first ever Thomas LePine Photography print. The image also became the first picture I sold. I hadn’t thought of selling images, but this image changed all that when I was asked for a framed copy. But to me, the image floods my memory with moments from the night rather than the morning. Flashbacks like being at the top of a white pine in the dark, trying to remove a dead branch with a hatchet, so you can feed the fire giving you dull yellow light from below. More than that, the night reminds of me friendship and the undying beauty of the world around us; planned or not.