I had a dream. I would get into a large  canoe, not made from birch bark, loaded with whiskey and blankets (basic supplies, not for trading along the way). In a early, calm dawn light I would begin to paddle from near Montreal to the Northwest territories, along a route perhaps taken by voyageurs 300 years ago, when Canada was new, pristine , and unspoiled in every regard. I often think of these men - roving adventurers of lake, stream and backwood. It was all backwood in those days, and a mis-step or errant paddling decision could cost you your life - and for many it did. No phones, rescue squad or paramedics in those days. It was root hog or die. The voyageurs, unknown, unsung, the intrepid wayfarers in a pathless land - true Canadian heroes, my heroes. What they did by deed and strength of character can only thrive in my imagination. Paddle on, men from an now unknown age in a then unknown country.