Where does this writer get the stuff to write about? Most often from my home, from my backyard, and places within a day’s travel.
This past weekend I undertook a two-day canoe trip with son Rob and friend Dave. We launched in the Blackwater River below a breathtaking waterfall, encountered beaver and otters and whiskyjacks, paddled under migrating flocks of sandhill cranes with their weird honks, and camped under a full moon. We woke up to frost coating the tent and the landscape, and Rob spooked a lynx when he went for a pee. For the rest of the day, we punched through unexpected log jams or cut new portages around them, and pulled out at Beardmore.
Something I didn’t tell my companions – I wanted to reconnoitre a stretch of river that features in my first (as yet unpublished) novel, “The Beardmore Relics”. I hadn’t seen it for twenty years. Those are a few paragraphs I have to rewrite.
It was a hard trip – but fun. Fun to be with such companions, fun to immerse oneself in the land (not to say, the river, which we nearly did on several occasions), and fun to be up to the challenge – I enjoyed my 70th birthday this month.