The summer of 1967, before we moved from Dartmouth, Nova Scotia to Port Stanley, Ontario, I joined the Mic Mac canoe club. It is as the name says, a canoe club on the shore of Lake Banook in Dartmouth. It is an oval shaped lake that connects to Lake Mic Mac under a bridge. The Banook canoe club is across from it on the far shore and North Star canoe club is in between the two at the end of the lake.
On Sunday afternoons there were canoe races between the three clubs that ran the length of the lake. People used to gather on sunny days on a steep embankment across the highway that ran behind Mic Mac club. It was a Sunday outing for families and young people alike. The embankment was a natural, grassy viewing stand for the races. The lake water was a cold looking, dark blue that the canoes flew across, leaving their narrow wakes trailing behind.
My first Sunday as a member of the club, I was on the dock at the clubhouse while canoe teams loaded into various sizes and types of canoes to head down the lake to the start line. The wooden dock felt warm under bare feet and curiously smooth. I tried not to get in anyone's way. I was aware that I was a kid among teenagers, being just 12 and small.
The water sparkled in the sunlight as if there were shiny diamonds just under the surface. The teams of racers knew what they were doing as they expertly carried their canoes out onto the dock and set them in the water. Then they would, one at a time, climb into the canoe and kneel with one knee down and one up with their foot on the bottom of the canoe. Their paddles rested on their thighs until they were ready to move out onto the lake away from the dock.
I watched in awe as several guys carried a long war canoe out onto the dock in preparation for their race. The war canoe is a 12-man canoe that a good team can make 'fly' across the water. After they gently set the canoe in the water, one teen got in and held the canoe stationary to the dock with his free hand. When the rest of the team came out onto the dock, and were about to enter the canoe, one tall, brown haired, muscular guy, who seemed to be in charge, was counting his team mates. I watched him closely.
"Hey! We're one short. We've got eleven and the rules say you must have 12. Where is Rod?" They held a small conference on the dock. The leader did a double take as he noticed me on the dock. "Hey kid, are you a club member?"
I was too surprised to answer so I nodded.
