SEVEN CAMPFIRES TO THE NAHANNI
This website had originally been created to share my descriptions of various, predominantly outdoor adventures as well as photography with my closest friends. At this stage, I am happy to invite the outdoors-oriented, adventure-loving members of the general public who might benefit from my experiences. I would love to stimulate a feedback discussion. As the site grows, it is being periodically updated to be available in English and Czech. This is the English version. For Czech, please, click the appropriate button at the top of the page.
Should you be interested in purchasing the book on the left, you can look it up on Google and order it on Amazon. For more details, please, click the "BOOKS" button at the top.
SCROLL DOWN FOR ILLUSTRATED ACCOUNTS OF MY SOLO CANOEING ALONG THE CANADA'S HISTORIC FUR TRADE CANOE ROUTE - SOON TO BE PUBLISHED IN A NEW BOOK "EMBRACING CANADA"
Ah, what a feeling to hold the paddle again. The digits of one hand itching to encircle its shaft, the palm of the other — both in fingerless leather gloves — hardly waiting to wrap around the bulbous Tee on its end. The arm muscles are twitching with the anticipation of propelling the canoe to adventures unknown beyond the distant horizons. It has all been long etched in and familiar — no need for refresher practice. It is the same routine as riding a bicycle, swimming, the kick from the wax zone of a cross-country ski, the pressing down of the heels in the stirrups while pumping a horse for a jump over a fence — once you get the hang of it you can never forget it. It is the freedom to move again on one’s two legs over the surface of Mother Earth, to live without a ceiling over one’s head other than the high sky, to feel the warming sun on one’s bare back, to draw in the aroma of coniferous resin, to feel the fresh moisture of the wind-driven rain on one’s face while protected by a Gore-Tex windbreaker. It is the refreshing scent of ozone after the passage of a thunder storm; the ever changing daily transformations in nature’s beauty scenes; the day’s conclusion in the radiant therapy by the embers of an evening campfire. It is the beckoning of that old familiar yearning akin to the salmon’s drive to head for his native spawning flats high up the river. It is the return to the liberation of the primeval instincts in me that I inherited from ancestors as distant as those from the Stone Age. Could even the few percent of Neanderthal genes in my genome be responsible? It all heightens the spirit, sharpens the acute alertness and spurs on the flow of adrenaline for overcoming unforeseen obstacles and dangers — the components that make adventure an adventure. And to make it a true adventure, even that ultimate peril must be an integral part of it all — the one that lurks somewhere in the dark background shadows — the one that one must constantly hold in check by wisdom and experience — the danger of death.
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