What do you think?
Rate this book
The Complete Wilderness Paddler
A combination of detailed instruction and text (based on actual adventures) of all the techniques of canoe camping and wilderness cruising. You learn how to "find a river," navigate, cope with accidents and much more. With 65 drawings and 11 maps.
- GenresNonfictionOutdoors
288 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1975
5 people are currently reading
55 people want to read
About the author
James West Davidson
164 books25 followersJames West Davidson is a historian, writer, and wilderness paddler. He received his Ph.D. in American history from Yale University and writes full time. He is also co-editor, with Michael Stoff, of New Narratives in American History, a series published by Oxford University Press, as well as the coauthor of textbooks in American history. These include "Experience History," "After the Fact: The Art of Historical Detection," and "US: A Narrative History" for the college level and "The American Nation" for the middle grades.
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 - 3 of 3 reviews
April 13, 2008
My family read this book out loud together while preparing for a 10-day canoe-camping trip in northern Minnesota and Canada back when I was in high school. It seems to me that white-boards and dry-erase markers had just recently been invented at that time, and my parents bought a large one (about 4 feet wide by 5 feet tall) and hung it on the wall in our basement. As we read the book we began creating a packing list on the big white-board, with many different categories and sub-categories.
The book itself was much more than a "how-to" book and was really enjoyable reading. The technical information was interspersed with the telling of the true story of four young men planning and executing an extended trip down Quebec's isolated Moisie River, a south-flowing tributary to the St. Lawrence River. It was nearly 30 years ago that I read this book, so I don't remember many of the details--just that there was plenty of humor and some drama.
Our own trip was much less adventurous than the trip described in the book, but was nonetheless the longest canoe trip my family ever took. We paddled northward down the Granite River from Gunflint Lake to Saganaga Lake, which straddles the U.S.-Canada border. We checked in at the Canadian border station, accessible only by canoe, just to say we did, though the officer seemed like he would have preferred to not be bothered. The main reason for stopping, though, was to pick up some McIntosh's toffee at the little store. From there we did a long circuit through the many bays and around the large islands of Canada's Northern Lights Lake. I don't remember whether we saw any northern lights on that trip, but we did see some moose, and of course, plenty of beaver lodges and beaver dams.
One campsite, in particular, stands out in my mind, where I wandered into the woods and found a delightful glen decorated with umpteen different varieties a moss and lichen. I don't remember whether or not I took off my shoes to feel the moss on my bare feet. I sure hope I did. Then again, it would have been a shame to step on the moss. Up close it looked like a miniature forest, with so much intricate detail, that I could easily imagine it being the setting for a Dr. Seuss story with all kinds of magical little characters going about their daily business, conducting their transactions in quaint rhymes. Who would dare interfere with that?
Perhaps it was this book that started me in my long fascination with a genre that I call "wilderness-adventure" books. The book is probably not so great that it would capture the attention of someone who is not interested in canoing or wilderness travel. Nostalgia probably plays a large part in my 5-star rating, for thinking of this book reminds me of mist rising from still water, the birch and evergreen forest and surprise patches of blueberries. Surely there must have been mosquitoes, but I guess I was used to them back then. The memories are all happy ones: flexing my muscles against the paddle, imagining that whatever boy I liked at the time would be impressed if he could see me, dipping my cup into the lake to take a drink, and the nearly soundless sound of our heavily scratched, yellow aluminum canoe gliding through the water, with its black peace sign made of electrical tape on the bow.
Years later, when my parents were divorcing, my mom removed the peace sign. I hadn't known that for her it was a symbol of my dad's forthright expression of his own opinions without regard for hers. But maybe it didn't always mean that to her. We all seemed pretty happy on that trip.
The book itself was much more than a "how-to" book and was really enjoyable reading. The technical information was interspersed with the telling of the true story of four young men planning and executing an extended trip down Quebec's isolated Moisie River, a south-flowing tributary to the St. Lawrence River. It was nearly 30 years ago that I read this book, so I don't remember many of the details--just that there was plenty of humor and some drama.
Our own trip was much less adventurous than the trip described in the book, but was nonetheless the longest canoe trip my family ever took. We paddled northward down the Granite River from Gunflint Lake to Saganaga Lake, which straddles the U.S.-Canada border. We checked in at the Canadian border station, accessible only by canoe, just to say we did, though the officer seemed like he would have preferred to not be bothered. The main reason for stopping, though, was to pick up some McIntosh's toffee at the little store. From there we did a long circuit through the many bays and around the large islands of Canada's Northern Lights Lake. I don't remember whether we saw any northern lights on that trip, but we did see some moose, and of course, plenty of beaver lodges and beaver dams.
One campsite, in particular, stands out in my mind, where I wandered into the woods and found a delightful glen decorated with umpteen different varieties a moss and lichen. I don't remember whether or not I took off my shoes to feel the moss on my bare feet. I sure hope I did. Then again, it would have been a shame to step on the moss. Up close it looked like a miniature forest, with so much intricate detail, that I could easily imagine it being the setting for a Dr. Seuss story with all kinds of magical little characters going about their daily business, conducting their transactions in quaint rhymes. Who would dare interfere with that?
Perhaps it was this book that started me in my long fascination with a genre that I call "wilderness-adventure" books. The book is probably not so great that it would capture the attention of someone who is not interested in canoing or wilderness travel. Nostalgia probably plays a large part in my 5-star rating, for thinking of this book reminds me of mist rising from still water, the birch and evergreen forest and surprise patches of blueberries. Surely there must have been mosquitoes, but I guess I was used to them back then. The memories are all happy ones: flexing my muscles against the paddle, imagining that whatever boy I liked at the time would be impressed if he could see me, dipping my cup into the lake to take a drink, and the nearly soundless sound of our heavily scratched, yellow aluminum canoe gliding through the water, with its black peace sign made of electrical tape on the bow.
Years later, when my parents were divorcing, my mom removed the peace sign. I hadn't known that for her it was a symbol of my dad's forthright expression of his own opinions without regard for hers. But maybe it didn't always mean that to her. We all seemed pretty happy on that trip.
July 17, 2012
Another one of the books my dad left me. As a kid and young man, I rode along with him and listened to his advice (mostly), followed his prescriptions for packing, scouting, map-reading, navigating, portaging, and paddling. If he said a portage was in order, it was. Our canoe had a bent keel from going over a falls in a harrowing escape, and we never cut corners ever again after that.
Now that I read this book, complete with underlining, highlighting, and scribbled notes, it is all here. It's as if he's there; I can hear his voice as he explains the J-Stroke, hops out, grabs a rope and leads the canoe down a tiny drop or through some shallow rapids.
On page 122: "You should not consider yourself a good fire builder unless you can consistently light one-match fires..." I could not agree more. Every match wasted is a match you may need in a wind. Before we ever went on a trip, we practiced getting roaring fires going with one match. We also had a metal flint, which, with some crumbled birch bark and tiny twigs, actually works.
This review is not intended to be a personal memoir, but those memories I have of the rugged Canadian backwaters are treasured. And they were possible because Dad read this book and the advice worked. It was not his only resource, mind you, but many of the key lessons in canoeing are here. And they work. Even though we have GPS today, read the sections on maps—yes, they still make them and they are printed on paper. I only bring a GPS on canoe trips for giggles—it's fun to see where you are and maybe discover some areas not on the map. That is, when you have a signal. Or batteries. Batteries weigh a lot. On a long trip, that weight is probably better allocated to food or survival gear.
Now that I read this book, complete with underlining, highlighting, and scribbled notes, it is all here. It's as if he's there; I can hear his voice as he explains the J-Stroke, hops out, grabs a rope and leads the canoe down a tiny drop or through some shallow rapids.
On page 122: "You should not consider yourself a good fire builder unless you can consistently light one-match fires..." I could not agree more. Every match wasted is a match you may need in a wind. Before we ever went on a trip, we practiced getting roaring fires going with one match. We also had a metal flint, which, with some crumbled birch bark and tiny twigs, actually works.
This review is not intended to be a personal memoir, but those memories I have of the rugged Canadian backwaters are treasured. And they were possible because Dad read this book and the advice worked. It was not his only resource, mind you, but many of the key lessons in canoeing are here. And they work. Even though we have GPS today, read the sections on maps—yes, they still make them and they are printed on paper. I only bring a GPS on canoe trips for giggles—it's fun to see where you are and maybe discover some areas not on the map. That is, when you have a signal. Or batteries. Batteries weigh a lot. On a long trip, that weight is probably better allocated to food or survival gear.
September 2, 2018
This is one of my all-time favorite books. A brilliant combination of story of a bunch of guys headed out for a trip that acts as the thread through as detailed explanation of a canoe expedition. I’ve read and re-read it again and again over the years.
Displaying 1 - 3 of 3 reviews