Earlier today Susan blogged about her experience on our canoe trip this summer, and although we had originally planned a co-authored blog post it seems that we both have enough to say to warrant separate posts.

I have had three different international trips cancelled this year due to COVID-19, the most recent being the horseback riding trip in Iceland that Susan and I had been looking forward to for close to two years. We held out hope for a very long time, but finally called it about a month and a half before we were supposed to depart. SAD FACE. I had been taking Icelandic riding lessons and getting all into my groove for a new type of adventure, but it was not to be, at least this year. I decided to keep the time booked off, which ended up working out very well indeed.

Susan and I both got the email about the Killarney canoe trip, and she texted me before I had a chance to reach out to her – we were of the same mind that this would be good to do together. A vacation! Time outdoors! We even planned to sleep in the same tent and hug each other, like in the before times.  When it came time to actually sign up, the spaces were getting snapped up like hand sanitizer in March (too soon?), and I had unknowingly gone for a lunch break right when registration opened. I returned from lunch to Susan’s frantic texts and signed up right away. Phew indeed!

When I told my partner about the trip, he asked how far a drive it was to Killarney, and I realized that I had absolutely no idea where Killarney even was. I hadn’t thought to check because it didn’t actually matter to me, I just wanted to get away and spend some time having outdoor adventures with my dear friend Susan.

As Susan mentioned in her post, we took a short camping trip together last summer to see how we travelled together, and found that we were highly compatible. (Hooray!) So after getting our negative COVID test results, I had no qualms about leaving my Toronto bubble of two to spend a week with her, starting out at her cottage before heading off to Killarney. I was excited to hug someone other than my partner for the first time since mid-March. Sharing hugs and physical closeness with friends is something I had definitely been missing. When I arrived at her cottage, the embrace we shared was a truly wonderful thing. Over the week together we hugged and snuggled and shared casual touch in ways that would have been perfectly normal before, but now held an intimacy that felt heightened and incredibly special. It reminded me of how much my body enjoys and appreciates affectionate touch, which is one of the many things that the pandemic has wrenched away from me.

I am not nearly as experienced in canoe camping as Susan, and our trip last year was the first time in over a decade that I’d done this sort of camping. Susan did all the organizing, preparing, shopping, navigating etc. when we went together, so it was easy for me to leave all that with our guide. At the start of the trip, when asked what she wanted from the experience, one of the other women said that she wanted to make no decisions and have no responsibilities for five days. This very much reflected my desires as well. I wanted to be a body engaging with the immediate physical environment, under the care of an experienced guide, and to give my mind the space to slow down, wander, and rest.

My body was definitely at the forefront of this trip for me, in ways both expected and unexpected. Day 1 and 5 were the most physically demanding, with 3 portages, one of which was over a kilometre long. That first day, on my second trip carrying an extremely heavy pack across the long portage in an oppressive heat, I felt perilously close to my physical limits. I literally dripped with sweat and could only get through by focusing on the present moment and then slowing taking the next step. I was as in my body and in the moment as I think it’s possible to be. I found it almost trance-like, in that it was a very different way of experiencing life than my normal day to day. Finishing that portage was an accomplishment for the ages. The other portaging and canoeing we did were demanding at times, but nothing approached the intensity of that day 1 portage. I’m guessing I might have the CAST IRON FRYING PAN to blame/thank for that!

The unexpected things that came up for my body included getting a urinary tract infection at the end of Day 1, which was extremely disconcerting. I hadn’t had one in years and I feared that I might not be able to manage the rest of the trip if it went untreated. Miraculously one of the other campers had a spare 3 day course of appropriate antibiotics (!!!!)  which saved the day/trip for me. But wait, there’s more! The next night I got my period 4 days early. Sigh. I had come prepared for it to be 1-2 days early, but didn’t have nearly enough menstrual supplies for 4 days given my heavy peri-menopausal flow. Again I was rescued by other campers, who provided me with enough tampons to last until the end of the trip. These experiences brought to the forefront the importance and centrality of my body as a foundation for my daily experiences. They also highlighted the ways that community care can help mitigate and manage the challenges of life, such as unpredictable bodies.

When I wasn’t canoeing, portaging, setting up or taking down, I spent a lot of time in rest. I enjoyed Susan’s hammock when it was available, I snoozed in our tent, and I cooled off in the water. I was silent even more than Susan was, and that was just fine with her too. I needed some time on my own, to disconnect from the world and from work and from the many other responsibilities of life. Sometimes I actually found that I didn’t know what to do with myself, which created some anxiety as I am usually a Busy Person but I kept on with the resting and it did me good. I was able to hit my reset button at long last, and I came home feeling calmer and more grounded than I had in months.

I thought it was too late to canoe into the back country. In the past 16 years or so, I have never had a summer where I didn’t get in at least once. But this year, because of . . . you know what. . .I did not get my act together to book anything before millions of people descended on the park system and grabbed all the spots when they opened up. That was a big sad I’ll tell you. My Horsie trip to Iceland also got cancelled. I mean, of course it did, but I was anxiously clinging to a miracle. Can you blame me? A summer of bummer to put it mildly.

But wait! What appeareth in my inbox? A hastily arranged organized trip to Killarney!? I pounced on it like a hawk on a mouse, like a cat on a cockroach. I yell-texted Cheryl (who was going to be all horsie with me) “THE SPOTS ARE ALL SNAPPING UP THERE ARE ONLY 7 GO REGISTER OMG!” She made it, phew.

I have never been to Killarney (Ontario btw) before, I’m an Algonquin girl. Our entrance into the park was the back end off Highway 6. As you can imagine this trip was more about chasing the permit spots than it was an idealized journey of exploration. But for me, getting into a canoe, out on the water, over a hill, away from the things and into a tent was the point, not whether the route made any sense. It was also an interesting challenge for me because I was not organizing it. Organizing a back-country trip is exactly the kind of exercise in ingenuity, cleverness and delightful surprises to my companions that I most enjoy. Now someone else was going to do that for me. Could I trust her? At this point, I did not care. Worst case, I’d just lay on a rock and cry about everything and honestly, that felt like the most beautiful possibility. Spoiler, I would not be crying about the canoe trip.

Cheryl and I have tripped before. Last year we spent a weekend together with my daughter and her best friend, to test out if we would be GOOD TRAVELLING COMPANIONS IN ICELAND. (ahhhhhhhhhhhhhsobbb). Anyway, we are and so, we were excited to go get our brains swabbed for COVID and then spend some time hugging each other. Oh yes, in case you are wondering, this trip required a timely COVID test to attend. It was still a risk. There were protocols on the trip for distance but they were, well, hard to maintain, as they are everywhere and for everything. We washed our hands a lot, had too many tents and Cheryl was the only person I hugged. There are many people I know who would find that risk too great but with the level of COVID in the community right this moment (it turned out to be the lowest time so far) I felt the benefit to me outweighed the risk.

The fact I was not organizing it left me brain space to notice some different things about tripping than I often do. It also allowed me to have some experiences I would not otherwise have had. This sort of adventure uses the whole body and mind. In order to propel yourself around water and land, carry all your stuff, make shelter and food, you need the body. When I’m organizing a trip, I also need my thinky mind. I’m navigating and planning and cooking and organizing. Those aspects were limited by the presence of someone else to do that work and I noticed other things emerging.

First of all, thank all the powers that be for Alex the trainer. I started with her in the depths of the pandemic because, in my imagination, I needed to be able to ride horses in August. Of course, I really started with her because I was withering away in my house. It turns out that improving one’s balance and power with one hundred evil ways to squat or hollow hold is very helpful on a canoe trip. Especially a canoe trip where the organizer is attached to her CAST IRON FRYING PAN. Ya, the packs were HEAVY. There were oranges, nectarines, apples, potatoes and a CABBAGE. The food was really great but that first day. . .OMG. 

What I noticed most profoundly, was that I was thinking less of “can I finish this portage?” and more of “what is the nature of the experience of this portage?”. That was a space of awareness that, given how intense the work was, I would not have had before. The canoes were pretty light for what they were but not as light as my Catnoe, which is somewhere just under 35lbs. I think these were 45lbs. I carried one on my head for just over a kilometer with about 200m of elevation. I had to sing out loud the whole time. The canoe sat directly on the trigger points in my traps but. . .I could do it. Not only could I do it, I didn’t have to rest and I could step over large logs on the trail. I was balanced and sturdy and even. . .graceful? I had this moment where I saw my arms out of my peripheral vision, balancing the boat and I just said inside, “this is my body and it’s such a good body”. That moment was at the centre of the experience.

There were lots of other things that I was so happy about. I splurged and bought a new hammock just before we left and I spent hours and hours in it doing NOTHING. In those moments I allowed myself to rest because I deserved rest. I was silent a lot of the time and that was just fine with Cheryl. I don’t know if it was fine with all the other folks but I actually didn’t care. I was doing what I wanted, I even cried a little on a rock because the world is on fire and there is so much work to be done. 

Yet, for these 5 days, the only work was the immediate. Get the packs in the boat, get the people in the boat, get the boat on the water. Get the packs on my back, move the packs to the other side, repeat. Put up the tent and nest. Put up the hammock and rest. Take it all down. Repeat. There is nothing I love more, except maybe a warm horse nose, but that will be for next year.

Reading Sharon Salzberg’s Real Happiness for our book club, has gotten me thinking more about the specifics of my meditation practice. Posture, for example, is one of those things I hadn’t been paying close attention to anymore. I don’t mean that I was meditating in slumped over disarray. More that, after some years of practice, I have established my posture. Cross-legged. Seated on a cushion. Back straight. Neck long. Pelvic energy rooting down and my upper body’s energy rising, as if a string were pulling me gently up by the crown of my head. As for my hands, most often, they rest on my thighs, palms down, close enough to my body so that my shoulders and heart can open. Somewhere back in the mists of time I learned that palms down was grounding and palms up was for lightness and a more ethereal experience. But my reason for palms down is prosaic—I find it the most comfortable hand position.

Then, a couple of weeks ago, I decided to try meditating with my hands in a mudra—palms up, thumb and forefinger lightly touching, the other fingers extended. Even though I mostly meditate alone and no one is watching, I’ve felt uncomfortable with the idea of using a mudra. Too many magazine-y images of yoginis in pristine white outfits, their faces a study in serenity, their perfectly manicured hands holding thumb to finger lightly. Mudras seemed twee, fake, over-earnest, precious, pretentious and just plain why?-ish.

At first, I felt nothing different, except the slight hitch as my body-mind adjusted to the different hand position. Then, about 30 seconds later, it was as if I’d been plugged in to a gentle, calming yet zesty energy feed. I felt … collected. Gathered.

Not that my mind didn’t wander. It did. Not that I didn’t lose my way. I did. But overall, I felt more invigorated, deeper inside the meditation. The union within and outside myself was more robust. At first, I thought, “Oh, it was just that day.” I was already in a union-y mood, a tuned in to the universe frame of mind. So, I tried the mudra again the next day. And the day after next. Each time, after 15-30 seconds, a similar sensation of plugged-in-ness. It’s been more than two weeks now. I’m continuing the experiment. There has been the inevitable feeling of growing accustomed to the plug-in. The energy doesn’t feel quite as special. At the same time, it is discernible, distinct and interesting. I’m not going to stop.

I shouldn’t be surprised that there’s something to this whole mudra business; those yoga practitioners with their thousands of years of wisdom. In preparation for writing this, I searched out the mudra I’ve been using. It’s called the Gyan mudra and is to improve concentration and sharpen memory. It’s the mudra for seeking knowledge. I like that. I also learned about other mudras, which I think I’d better try now. Who knows what new sensations I’ll encounter with my new meditation hands?

Oh, and one other tidbit I recently learned about my meditation posture. I had noticed over the last year or more that during my sits my head was often turning to the left. As if I were trying to listen to or look at someone or something over my left shoulder. Often, I wasn’t even conscious of the drift until I finished my meditation. A wise guide I encountered recently helped me piece the impulse together—I am listening for my female ancestors, my feminine (feminist!) lineage. I love that idea. But I also want to keep my head pointing forward and use my meditation to listen for all the wisdom. That might be something the Shuni mudra can help me with. I’ll keep you posted.