In really heavy weather one man only
can do any work. The other must be content to remain passenger, and he
must be trained to absolute immobility. No matter how dangerous a
careen the canoe may take, no matter how much good cold water may pour
in over his legs, he must resist his tendency to shift his weight. The
entire issue depends on the delicacy of the steersman's adjustments, so
he must be given every chance.
The main difficulty rests in the fact that such canoeing is a good deal
like air-ship travel--there is not much opportunity to learn by
experience. In a four-hour run across an open bay you will encounter
somewhat over a thousand waves, no two of which are exactly alike, and
any one of which can fill you up only too easily if it is not correctly
met. Your experience is called on to solve instantly and practically a
thousand problems. No breathing-space in which to recover is permitted
you between them. At the end of the four hours you awaken to the fact
that your eyes are strained from intense concentration, and that you
taste copper.
Probably nothing, however, can more effectively wake you up to the last
fibre of your physical, intellectual, and nervous being. You are filled
with an exhilaration. Every muscle, strung tight, answers immediately
and accurately to the slightest hint. You quiver all over with
restrained energy. Your mind thrusts behind you the problem of the last
wave as soon as solved, and leaps with insistent eagerness to the next.
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