Scan barcode
weaselweader's review
5.0
"A declaration of love to the bend in the river and the expanse of the big lake ..."
Those of us who venture into the wilderness will be familiar with the litany of questions with which our mystified friends and relatives bombard us. Distilled to their essence, they amount to, "Why in the world would you go canoeing or hiking in the bush and subject yourself to danger, deprivation, cold, rain, bugs, sleeping on the ground and physical hard work when you could just as easily choose to vacation in a five-star hotel? Are you guys nuts?" The answer, of course, is that we don't believe so but we are often at a loss for words to explain our love for the wilderness.
In a series of compelling essays that touch on everything from equipment choices and skills; wind, rain, hail, snow and other assorted weather conditions; navigation and map reading; fire, warmth, comfort and on-trail contentment; food, both real and not so appetizing; beauty; shelter; getting wet; tippling on the trail and (gasp) even sex in the out of doors, Robert Kimber, part philosopher, part humorist and 100% skilled outdoorsman, answers the question. Avid canoeists and hikers will nod in agreement and offer a sigh in appreciation of Kimber's outstanding prose and magnificent artistry. Those readers who have never ventured beyond the city will undoubtedly begin to understand the magnetic appeal that the wilderness holds for many of us.
Perhaps the best way to convey Kimber's skills as a wordsmith is to provide a series of short quotations that will give a potential reader the flavour of an entire book.
"I wanted to see mile after mile of river and lake opening before me; to get an inkling from the wilderness we still have of what all creation was once like; to muse alone on a rock ledge at moonrise ..."
On the virtues of comfort, skilled use of proper equipment and the fallacy of "roughing it":
"--Roughing it--has always struck me as a dumb phrase. It suggests that there is some kind of virtue in discomfort and inconvenience. Just get wet, cold, hungry, and exhausted enough, it says, and you will experience the true essence of the outdoors. Untrue. The only thing you'll experience is wet, cold, hunger and exhaustion. You won't have any energy or attention left over to appreciate the flight of the kingfisher or the damp touch of the morning mist on your face or the raccoon tracks in the mud or any of the other little million things there are to attend to."
And on the utter, unadulterated joy of finding the perfect campsite:
"But delicious as the sights of this idyllic spot were - the maples, the little bogan across the river, the stand of pines near it, the sky, the clouds, the play of the leaves in the breeze, the curve and play of the river - the most enchanting thing about it was the sound, the lapping and gurgling of the water, not the rush and roar of a rapid but instead this gentle, soothing sound of moving water making its way around and over the low barrier of the ledge, then dissipating its energy, swirling, flattening out."
It would be a cold-hearted reader that wouldn't be emotionally touched by such eloquent writing and at least wish they had it in them to try their hand at a trip into the wilderness, however short and simple.
A Canoeist's Sketchbook wasn't quite as good as an actual trip into the bush but it certainly brought a broad smile to my face. Highly recommended.
Paul Weiss
Those of us who venture into the wilderness will be familiar with the litany of questions with which our mystified friends and relatives bombard us. Distilled to their essence, they amount to, "Why in the world would you go canoeing or hiking in the bush and subject yourself to danger, deprivation, cold, rain, bugs, sleeping on the ground and physical hard work when you could just as easily choose to vacation in a five-star hotel? Are you guys nuts?" The answer, of course, is that we don't believe so but we are often at a loss for words to explain our love for the wilderness.
In a series of compelling essays that touch on everything from equipment choices and skills; wind, rain, hail, snow and other assorted weather conditions; navigation and map reading; fire, warmth, comfort and on-trail contentment; food, both real and not so appetizing; beauty; shelter; getting wet; tippling on the trail and (gasp) even sex in the out of doors, Robert Kimber, part philosopher, part humorist and 100% skilled outdoorsman, answers the question. Avid canoeists and hikers will nod in agreement and offer a sigh in appreciation of Kimber's outstanding prose and magnificent artistry. Those readers who have never ventured beyond the city will undoubtedly begin to understand the magnetic appeal that the wilderness holds for many of us.
Perhaps the best way to convey Kimber's skills as a wordsmith is to provide a series of short quotations that will give a potential reader the flavour of an entire book.
"I wanted to see mile after mile of river and lake opening before me; to get an inkling from the wilderness we still have of what all creation was once like; to muse alone on a rock ledge at moonrise ..."
On the virtues of comfort, skilled use of proper equipment and the fallacy of "roughing it":
"--Roughing it--has always struck me as a dumb phrase. It suggests that there is some kind of virtue in discomfort and inconvenience. Just get wet, cold, hungry, and exhausted enough, it says, and you will experience the true essence of the outdoors. Untrue. The only thing you'll experience is wet, cold, hunger and exhaustion. You won't have any energy or attention left over to appreciate the flight of the kingfisher or the damp touch of the morning mist on your face or the raccoon tracks in the mud or any of the other little million things there are to attend to."
And on the utter, unadulterated joy of finding the perfect campsite:
"But delicious as the sights of this idyllic spot were - the maples, the little bogan across the river, the stand of pines near it, the sky, the clouds, the play of the leaves in the breeze, the curve and play of the river - the most enchanting thing about it was the sound, the lapping and gurgling of the water, not the rush and roar of a rapid but instead this gentle, soothing sound of moving water making its way around and over the low barrier of the ledge, then dissipating its energy, swirling, flattening out."
It would be a cold-hearted reader that wouldn't be emotionally touched by such eloquent writing and at least wish they had it in them to try their hand at a trip into the wilderness, however short and simple.
A Canoeist's Sketchbook wasn't quite as good as an actual trip into the bush but it certainly brought a broad smile to my face. Highly recommended.
Paul Weiss
More...