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Having had much of my early and best times canoeing and camping, other than noting that both float there’s big connection between an 18-foot double ender and a passenger ship.

A canoe party of 10 in five canoes is small stuff, indeed, compared to the thousand and a half (+) going round the world t’gether.

As human groups get larger it is, for me, increasingly difficult to relate on a personal level. Maybe, in part, the numbers factor explains why it’s so easy for many of us to love or hate people we know only from media – and maybe why it’s so difficult for some to deal with the flesh and blood reality of our neighbors.

But, set that aside. Perhaps shouldn’t have gone there at all, but having done so I’ll let the thought stand as best it can.

Running weekly canoe trips I had to organize groups of inexperienced strangers into units able to paddle and work in synch.

Marriage wasn’t always a help.

Odd pairings could be surprisingly good.

In any case, however easy or strained the relationships, we’d be in close contact with each other for the whole period. Real privacy was, more ‘r less, confined to periods requiring the use of toilet paper. Agreement was near universal about that, though some required a guard standing at the ready in case a lunatic lupus loomed from the undergrowth with a meal of two-legged Iowan meat in mind. Never happened, but fear of such was relatively common.

For many, a bathroom with no walls was as wild (or more) than they ever cared to be or would ever seek in future. Easing, as best was possible, such unease or fear was crucial for some paddlers to have a better time in the well-trammeled wilderness.

A canoe trip is by far, in my view, a more human or humanizing experience than a cruise could possibly achieve.

For one (and of course quite appropriate given the average graying age of the cruise “community”) a voyage is many times easier than a wilderness canoe trip. Ten guests served meals at properly appointed table is not at all the same as 10 circling ‘round a fire for the evening’s meal.

A day’s paddling and portaging make for a much more real hunger, sharper than that gained doing exercise laps around the deck or climbing on-off an air conditioned tour bus.

More than that, though, is the intensity of interest in the shared meal as guide I’d prepare and serve. A bond made of need for fuel is enhanced by the shared experience.

The first half-plate of stew goes down quickly, followed by an easing-off where chowing down (or tucking in) is moderated by chat over the day’s activities. Too bad that fish got away. The waves got big while we rounded the point. That mother duck wanted to make darn sure we stayed away from her ducklings. How far did we paddle today? Can I look at the map?

At least paddling isn’t hard on the feet.

The rigor or demand of a canoe trip make it far different from a comfy cruise. Ease, I think, weakens experience.

A canoe trip expresses surviving with fitness whereas a cruise is focused on a different life stage.

In youth I was an addict to action. Do and keep doing until exhausted. Then after decades with assorted joints gone sour and muscles showing past stresses it’s time to take the slower, easier way and (I must say) be thankful of an opportunity I know to be limited.

Time does not mean the same at 80 as it did at 18.

More tropic islands to come, those so far visited have not at all satisfied my canoe curiosity. The Pacific double ender resembles the Northwoods double-ended canoe, but the manner of use and propulsion along with the frequent presence of outriggers is something I’d like to see and learn about in other than illustrations. I

t’s a disappointment seeing a high front south seas outrigger canoe with a crew of one giving rides to the reef with outboard power. Likewise, there doesn’t seem that a jet ski in Polynesia is much different from the same in the Twin Ports harbor or on Vermillion. The main thing seems “go like hell.” And that they do.

In my experience as a canoeist facing big water was daunting to the point of intimidation. I never faced Nipigon or Trafalgar Bay without a sinking feeling of fear and trepidation.

In a good blow the big water has more than a good chance to build problematic waves.

The double ender is made to handle following (coming from behind) seas without pounding the stern as happens with boats.

With motor power a boat’s stern can stay ahead of (run with) the waves, something that isn’t likely if you’re human powered with oars.

The double ender propelled by paddles can’t do it either, but the pointed stern end allows waves to catch up and pass without slamming the hull into an eventual broach.

Supposedly there’s a chance to see some more authentic vessels in the Bay of Islands. We’ll see. I can hope.

Sam/Mark sailing on The Quaker City in 1877 was often amused (kindest word for it) by the zealous beliefs held by many of his fellow passengers.

It’s probably the case a contemporary will look at earlier views/beliefs as old fashioned or entirely out of date. Old-time religion was as much a target in ’77 as it is today.

We are, so we feel, above living our lives according to revealed truths. Or are we?

Sitting among strangers (which I do for the challenge involved) I’m often hit with revelations both sudden and unwanted as someone fetches up a profound belief.

As anyone with a nose for history might know, correctness in any form (political included) is the core of both social division and zealotry. The past century is, seems to me, solid evidence that political faith is dangerous as anything the religiously zealous served up.