(With apologies to Songs of the Great Lakes – “On the Schooner Hercules”)
Hart Haessler
In the spring of O and four,
The first of May it’s true,
Seven kayaks set their blades.
We were a GLSKA crew.
No finer paddlers left these shores,
Nor better seasoned few.
From Honey Harbour up the bay,
Our course was north and true.
The waters were just free of ice,
Cold, grey and windless, too.
Cold rain could not dampen spirits
Of fresh and hardy crew.
The miles were swiftly numbered.
Into the rain we flew,
Up Main Channel, past the Dogs.
There was Big and Little, too.
Beausoleil Isle we spied
Off our portside rail.
All this time it rained so cold.
We hoped it wouldn’t hail.
Now east and to the channel
Where our hardest trial awaited.
McRae Lake was our goal,
The destination stated.
Our voyage could have ended here
For to our great dismay,
There raged a foaming rapid
Between the Lake and Bay.
The captain was a fine old salt
But he could not understand
That fully laden kayaks
Could not float on land.
This crew could not be thwarted;
They organized a team
To haul those heavy boats
Up the tumbling stream.
We soon found our campsite
And handed grog around
After setting out the tents
On cold and sodden ground.
The rain had stopped its pounding
And this was none too soon.
The northern wood did echo
With the calling of the loon.
Round a cheery fire stood
Us seven soaked right through.
Soon dry and feeling warmer,
We laughed and drank our brew.
We ate our ample rations
And talked of trips and lore,
And then with bellies full
We prepared to dine once more.
We retired to our berths
But peace was hard to gain.
We heard the dreaded drumming
Of wind and colder rain.
Noah would have wondered
“Will it ever cease?”
For in the soggy morning
It only did increase.
The captain was a prudent man
And ordered a delay.
Our homeward course would have to wait
‘Till later in the day.
We huddled in our tarps and tents
And filled our stoves with gasses.
The hot drinks then were passed around
To warm our freezing asses.
The wind slacked off at twelve o’clock
And brighter grew the day.
We loaded up our sodden gear
And were quickly on the way.
Again we tested our strength
On slippery rocks and mosses,
Hauling heavy boats midst shouts
From contradicting bosses.
Now this Herculean labour,
This drudgery and pain,
Truly was heroic
For all was done in rain.
The captain’s name was Hart
Who now does sing to you.
Our mate, a man named Sam,
A paddler strong and true.
The others in their kayaks
I’ll mention by their name:
Stef, Sarka and Johanna
And Brad of Five Winds fame.
The seventh member of our crew
And pluckiest of the lot
Was little Laura Matthew
Who will never be forgot.
And now our trip is over, mates,
We’ve safely gone ashore.
We paddlers all have packed our gear,
Warm in our cars once more.
May fortune rest on gallant crew
Who made it back alive.
We bid adieu to McRae Lake
‘Till spring of O and five.