TIM BELFORD

After the fall

I fell out of a canoe recently. It's something I haven't done for a very long time.

The last time I recall doing anything quite so stupid was In 1963. And then I had an excuse. I was doing some white water canoeing in the southern part of Algonquin Park.

This time, however, I was fly fishing on a veritable mill pond called Trout Lake where the water seldom gets any rougher than your average Saturday night bath.

The problem was, I tried to do two things at once.

The wind - no, make that the breeze - was causing the canoe to drift towards shore .So I thought I'd just hold onto my fly rod in one hand and use the other to steer the bow into the wind.

Well, I leaned to my left and my weight shifted just enough to tilt the canoe past the centre of gravity.

And just like the Titanic she started to take on water.

However, unlike Leonardo de Caprio, I didn't have time to rush to the bow -- I went head first into the lake.

It wasn't so bad. The water was warm and the lake isn't deep and the canoe, even half full of water, wasn't going to sink.

So I decided I'd just kick my feet and propel myself, canoe in tow, to the shore.

I forgot two things.

One, the lead-ball anchor was now dragging on the bottom of the lake so my progress - even with my furious imitation of Alex Bauman - was about an inch an hour.

Two, my fly line was resting on the surface of the water which meant each time I kicked the line became increasingly wrapped around my foot.

The more I kicked, the more I became entangled. By the time I realized this wasn't going to work I was trussed like a Sunday chicken ready for the roasting pan.

To add insult to injury, the fly managed to hook itself to my shirt collar.

So there I was, bobbing along like a channel marker.

By this time my fishing companions sitting on the cabin porch had realized my plight.

"Hang on, we'll come and get you!"

Rescue was at hand!

You can imagine my consternation when I also heard, "Wait a minute, get the camera!"

My stupidity was about to be preserved for posterity.

Luckily, I always carry a pocket knife for just such occasions.

I was still holding on to my fly rod with one hand and the canoe and paddle with the other, but I managed to cut myself free.

It was pointed out afterwards, during the inevitable post mortem, that I could have perhaps let the canoe and paddle go since both would have floated quite nicely and could have been retrieved.

It was agreed, however, that in my panic I had likely seized them in lieu of a deck chair.

My biggest regret, however, was the loss of my pipe which sank like a stone.

At least the packet of tobacco floated as did one of my shoes which had been inadvertently kicked off during what the onlookers described as my "futile thrashing."

The moral of the story? When you're in a canoe don't try to do two things at once.