Topless in the Wilderness

It was a canoe trip down the Vermillion River in beautiful northern Minnesota that unfairly ruined my reputation as a skilled outdoorsman. A buddy and I had paddled north from Vermillion Lake to Crane Lake on the Minnesota-Canadian border. Four days of awesome scenery, wildlife and some great fishing had combined to make for a great late summer outing.

During he first three days on the river we had not seen another soul. Then a little incident occured, which when told and retold over the years put my good reputation at risk.

The river was mostly placid on that fatefull day. It flows gently through pine forest, and acres of wild rice with an occasional Class I or II rapids. Class I rapids are easy paddling for beginners. Class II means some whitewater which is relatively easy as long as you have the basic basic skills. Class III means the rapids are runnable for experienced and skilled paddlers. Class IV means for experts only with decked canoes or kayaks. Class V is very dangerous whitewater for professional kayakers with rescue available. Class VI-X means forget it.

There were a few class III rapids on the Vermillion but we had chosen to portage around all of them. Erring on the side of caution because even though all our camping gear was secured by rope in the canoe, we were not willing to risk getting it all wet. Until the last day that was.

As my canoeing partner and I stood on a bluff overlooking a rock strewn river section of about a quarter of a mile we made our decision. The water levels were low. It was late summer. This left the river more "technical" than dangerous looking. Lots of maneuvering would be required to safely navigate this stretch which gently curved out of sight to the right. In high water if looked like it would be too dangerous. Now it didn't appear to have any insurmountable problems . We went for it.

After checking to make sure everything was secured properly I took my usual place in the front of the canoe. In a two man white water canoe their are distinct roles to play for the paddlers.

The person in the back is the captain of the ship. Kirk of the starship Enterprise. Columbus crossing the uncharted ocean. Choosing the course. Making the big decisions . Left on the river. Right on the river. Eddy turn here. Ferry right there.

The man in the bow is an ordinary seaman. On his knees leaning forward he takes the short view. With absolute concentration, looking only a few feet ahead he must spot the immediate danger of rocks, hidden or not, that must be avoided. Seeing that danger, he yells "draw left or draw right," and using a draw stroke turns the front of the canoe from disaster. It a lonely job fraught with tension but as they say somebody has to do it.

That was my job and I was damn good at it. Especially judging the water as it boiled over hidden rocks. I avoided them instantaneously. As we came around the bend of the river their were about 100 yards of rapids left before the river spilled in a nice fishy looking pool. I spotted the pool immediately having taking my eye off the rock bed ahead only long enough to notice their was a canoe in the pool and two fisherman busily going about their business. The women in the front was clearly topless. Back to my job, we had covered about half the distance to the pool, when disaster struck. I had navigated between two large but only slightly exposed rocks when we hit a third rock hidden in the flow with a loud bang. Capsizing is always a possibility but in this case we spun 180 degrees and found ourselves traveling the last measure of the rapids going backwards. We entered the the pool in less than elegant fashion.

When we had hit the rock I thought I heard someone shout. I turned my head to see where we were headed. Straight towards the young couple who were looking somewhat dumbfounded at our unprofessional approach. The "au naturale" blonde in the bow of the boat was making a panic stricken effort to cover up her exposure. Laughing at our situation I was helpless while my sturdy and somewhat humorless partner had managed to begin turning us away so that at least we would not be colliding with the surprised and innocent bystanders.

It was left to me, however, to make contact with these wilderness devotees. The best I could come up with as we drifted by was to ask the aforementioned woman, "how's fishing?"

In the years that followed no matter how my partner told the story, it was always me, who upon seeing the topless canoeist, had lost his concentration. Had failed to attend to his duty. Had almost caused a fatal disaster. All for the sake of a Grecian Goddess of the North Woods.