Summer bliss is the sound of a canoe paddle slicing through the water, along a meandering river overhung with trees, splotches of sunlight rolling off my skin, and a friend to share it with. Our mid-week break was an afternoon of canoeing around Toronto Islands.
We walked by the crowds of families heading for the Centreville amusement park, and took the quieter path leading to the Toronto Island Boathouse. There we rented a canoe which came with paddles and life jackets. After a quick review of canoeing basics, and a glance at the map, we turned right and paddled into the lagoon. We lily-paddled, in no hurry to get anywhere. Sometimes we stopped paddling and let the canoe drift where it wanted, with the wind as a guide.
I spotted a bundle of twigs and leaves coming towards us. It was too fast and direct to be a random pile drifting in the breeze. About two-canoe lengths away, I realised it was a muskrat. It spotted us and dived underwater, still gripping the twigs and leaves firmly in its mouth. The muskrats are doing well. For millennia the animals were hunted for their warm, soft and waterproof fur. Today they are still harvested, and I am on the lookout for a pair of muskrat lined slippers for the winter.
Paddling around a bend and we were suddenly in a busy stretch of the lagoon. On one side was a boat club with a long line of yachts, motorboats, and houseboats moored along the tree-lined banks. On the other side was a channel leading to the open waters of Lake Ontario, with the skyline of the city glistening in the afternoon sunlight. The channel was crammed with people in canoes, kayaks and on paddleboards, jostling for the perfect backdrop for a selfie on the lake and with the skyline in the distance. The crowd was like the typical one found on the Toronto subway. It other words, it was multicultural with a range of skin tones, accents and languages.
Which way do we go? My friend wanted to take the outer route, on the open lake, to go around an island. I preferred the inner route as it was sheltered. I have canoed across the harbour tons of times, but today was for lollygagging in the lagoon. The thrill of riding the surf and the wake could wait for another day.
Nearing the end of the lagoon, the channel was filled with groups of paddleboarders. Most sat or knelt on the boards as an instructor demonstrated how to manoeuvre them. This was the third group, and looking along the banks, I realised that this area had a lot of businesses offering paddleboard lessons and rentals.
We paddled over to a quiet area and let the canoe drift with the breeze, as we took a tea break. A Great Blue Heron was perched in a tree, neck out-stretched, and as still as a stick. Near the shore a Great Egret was just as still in the shallow water. Both were waiting for lunch. We unwrapped ours, they had to catch theirs first.
Then we turned the canoe around and headed out to explore the other end of the lagoon. We passed water-taxis dropping off people who did not want to wait or take the crowed ferries. Then it was following whatever bend or streams in the lagoon that caught our eye.
We canoed under the bridges that link some of the islands. The land and the water are a popular park, a getaway back to endless nature, without having to drive hours to leave the city. Toronto Islands were turned into park by William Peyton Hubbard, the first Black politician and deputy mayor of Toronto in 1894. He thought that working-class people too deserved a summer break in nature. The rich could go to their cottages, the poor could take the ferry across to the Islands.
I remembered the Island Soul festivals that were held on the Toronto Islands. These were the companion to the Caribbean Carnival which draws about a million people each year. For a brief weekend the Islands pulsed with soca, reggae and hip-hop. They were the glory days of music, feast and Black people enjoying our culture and nature. When the crowds got too much, I would stroll around the Island listening to the water and the birds.
My daydreaming was cut short by my friend calling me. We had rented the canoe for two hours, and it was time we started heading towards the put-in. We turned the boat around, and still took our time as we lily-paddled back. Summer bliss is the sun's kiss while dilly-dallying in a canoe.
© Jacqueline L. Scott. You can support the blog here.
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