Green Canoe

(And How It Came Into My Life)

by Lee Wilbur

From the first time I saw her it was difficult to get her out of my mind. Many was the night I could imagine standing amidships, flyrod in hand, brookies by the dozen breaking water all around on a stillwater summer evening, or heavily loaded going across Big Lake for a week of camping and fishing. She was gorgeous. At 20 feet long she was simply one of the most beautiful square stern canoes I’d ever seen or ever dreamed about. High, bluff, warrior canoe bow, graceful sweeping lines, plenty of beam for carrying and stability, built like a brick outhouse and equipped with a 25 hp. electric start outboard, wheel steering and controls, she was every North Country fisherman’s dream.

My longtime and close snowskiing friend, Bill Rice, had just bought it from a retiring fisherman on Moosehead Lake when AJ and I pulled into his yard. Green Canoe looked, belying her 19 years, as if the final coat of paint had just been applied to her canvas hull, with the Mercury motor mounted on her stern, eager to find fishing water.

I said to Bill, “If it ever comes time to sell this canoe and you don’t give me first refusal, I’ll never speak to you again.” Thinking to myself , “And I’ll also steal your skis, burn your boots, and break your ski poles.” A few years went by. I’d talk to Bill occasionally as we were both wintering in Florida by now. He’d tell me of the few times he was using the “Green Canoe,” and how great she was in heavy weather and the good times on Moosehead . How you could put four people aboard and not slow her down. Each time I reminded him.

Last year he called. “You still interested in that canoe?”

“Interested?” I just about crawled through the phone line, check in hand.

This summer, during a two-day window between his sailing lessons and the startup of football practice, grandson Spencer and I load up the camping and fishing gear, pick up what I thought was the right size spare tire for the trailer along with a new battery, a jack to change the wheel and an air tank if the wheel was wrong. Green Canoe had been stored in mutual friend Eric White’s hangar at the Greenville Airport. We find the hangar and another mutual friend and ski buddy, Dick Lane, lets us in. Just as beautiful as I remembered.

Of course, the wheel was the wrong size and the tire was flat as a pancake and from the looks of it I wondered how it could hold any air. But we blew it up. Jumped in the Suburban and headed for Porter’s garage only to find it would be three days before they could get new tires. Tire is going down as we spoke. Pump up the tire again, top off the air tank, drive to NAPA, buy a can of aerosol tire patch, hit the road thinking it would go down some, then we’d spray it in, top it off and stuff would roll around and do its thing. Tire stayed up well, but halfway to Dover Foxcroft we sprayed anyway. Pulled into Dover planning to top the air tank again before going to the state campground on Sebec Lake. Stopped at the intersection and we hear what sounds like a mini explosion. Immediately look back at the trailer. Looks fine. Steam starts pouring from the Suburban’s hood. Luckily a Shell station is to our left and we pull in, taking up half of the dooryard by the length of trailer, overhanging 20' canoe and Suburban. After everyone has come out to look over Green Canoe, and share their enthusiasm we find out that a 3-way hose connection had exploded and NAPA down the street could deliver a new one in a few minutes.

Wasn’t long but what tire and tank were topped off, part was replaced, antifreeze restored, thanks made and we were headed down the road to Sebec. Not two miles and the temp gauge was off the chart again. Stopped and let the burb catch her breath and cool down. Finally, courage up enough to pop the radiator cap, we find radiator is dry. Mechanic had filled the overflow tank and none had gotten to the radiator causing an air block. Drinking water went into the radiator as it boiled and fizzed and finally drank enough to be happy again and none leaked out. Thanks were made to the guardian of innocent travelers and we piled back in.

By now it’s late afternoon. We check in to the campground, put up the tent, set up camp, get wood, and look over Green Canoe with the idea of getting on Sebec early in the morning. Tire of course goes down immediately. But, we’d learned one thing by now. On the road, the tire stays up. Another niggle shows up. Outboard motor is electric start, but, there's no key and no place to put one. Strange. In all my time since early youth of messing with boats and motors I'd never seen the like. Not even an indication. I try calling Bill. As terrible a connection as it is I am surprised to even reach him from the “deep” North Woods. He’s wondering if the old battery worked as the phone goes dead. Great. We have an enjoyable night around the fire after enjoying a joint effort dinner of Chop Suey.

Morning, and I’m up and determined to persuade Green Canoe to give up its secret. About the fifth time around I realize there’s an extra pin-like appendage to the motor mount on the port side covered by rubber. I push and the motor turns over.

With a crude map of the lake drawn from one at the entrance office in hand, Spencer and I launch Green Canoe and head to a purported hot bass area to do battle for a bass chowder that night. First cast and I get a keeper. Green Canoe and I have bonded. We have bass chowder that night.

When AJ asks me at the anointed hour each day, what I’m having for a cocktail, it’s more than usually a boring Vodka Martini. “Drink clear, think clear” has been my mantra since building a boat for a great gentleman and ex-Marine Colonel, Bailey Little, years more ago than I like to admit. I love to try new variations of this dynamite water and this summer came up with a new one I've dubbed the “RPM”.

RECIPE for the “RPM”

2 ounces your favorite vodka

Cap full of medium dry rosé wine

2 (pepperoncini) banana rings

Shy half-teaspoon banana ring liquid

Place three ice cubes in an old fashioned glass, add above ingredients and stir, “Not shaken.” ’ “RPM” comes from Rose Pepperoncini Martini. To be truthful and more complicated, I dip a fork into the liquid and shake it over the glass three times for just the right mixture. Never have more than two for safety’s sake.

Fair Winds and Good Roads