Every couple of years I rendezvous with a group of longtime buddies from my Outward Bound days in order to paddle a river somewhere in Canada’s north country. We’ve been doing this for years. Given that we now live in disparate locales, stretching from Toronto to Portland to Hong Kong, these trips are always initiated with a flurry of emails. This year was no different. The first volley of messages inevitably spurred a debate about which river we should paddle. It’s not a group that’s lacking in the opinion department, so myriad ideas were forcefully debated. Eventually opinion gave way to a decision. This year’s choice, the Bloodvein River in Manitoba.

Once the decision was made, the required planning tasks were divied up. We’d rendezvous at the Winnipeg airport, but from there needed to rent canoes and a van to transport them, as well as arrange for a bush plane to fly us and our gear into the river. We also needed to arrange transport by boat down Lake Winnipeg from the remote Indian reservation that was situated on the northeastern shore of the lake, at the end of the river. More emails flew back and forth. Gear lists were exchanged, menus were developed and food-packing chores handed out. Over two or three months all of the little details were wired to perfection.

Then, 48 hours before we were scheduled to rendezvous in Winnipeg, nature intervened in our thoughtfully laid out plans. The pilot who was going to fly us in called to tell us that access to the wilderness area we were planning to paddle through was restricted due to severe forest fire danger. Our first response: denial mixed with a bit of bravado. Let’s just show up and see what happens. Then, reason prevailed. Given the circumstances, it became apparent that we’d simply have to bag the trip.

But then a funny thing happened: Dave said that although the Bloodvein had specific allure, what really mattered to him was the experience of being on a river with a group of lifelong friends. The deep truth in his statement immediately reframed our thinking. Amazingly, 48 hours later we met in Ottawa where we rented a different set of canoes and a different van. From there we drove across the border into Quebec where a different pilot flew us into a different river.

We spent the next seven days on the Dumoine River. It’s a classic Canadian whitewater river. But Dave was right. In the end, as spectacular as the river and the paddling were, what really mattered was the time spent with one another in wilderness.

Laurens Van Der Post refers to wilderness as the “original cathedral.â€? The sense of community and communion that I experienced on the Dumoine was tangibly suggestive of his insight. The outer journey receded in importance as the wonder of the place invoked a deep sense of friendship and connection. That’s what keeps us going back. In fact, at the end of the trip on the way back to the Ottawa airport, we started planning our 2008 journey to paddle the Snake River in the Yukon Territory north of the Arctic Circle.

But then again, the choice of rivers is somewhat incidental given the people who’ll be embarking on the adventure with me.

Photographs by Peter Bowers