Each time my spouse Alison and I walked across the bridge over the Seine on our way to or from the local train station in the Paris suburb where we were vacationing, we admired the houseboats lining the riverbank in the shade of overhanging trees. Above deck, the owners of the barge nearest the bridge had added a patio with lights, a clothesline and even a small garden. We imagined the living quarters below deck to be spacious and lovingly furnished.
Don’t misunderstand. We were enjoying our three-week home exchange to Paris, but there was something about those houseboats that got us fanaticizing. We imagined renting or even buying one, casting off and meandering along, the wash flapping on the clothesline. We’d float through French countryside, slip past vineyards and into medieval towns. Something about the idea encapsulated our mutually exclusive desires for both freedom and home.
The Big Break
Back home, when I heard about Atlantic Canada’s only houseboat rental company – Lakeway Houseboats on the St. John River in New Brunswick – I immediately started dreaming and scheming. When Canadian Geographic Travel magazine agreed to take the story based on the St. John’s recent designation as a Canadian Heritage River and two sets of friends agreed to come along – Lester and Rebecca, Scott and Belinda with their nine-year old son Forrest – it felt like the puzzle had pieced itself together.
We meet our shipmates at the Mactaquac Marina, just north of Fredericton in early October. When we arrive, it’s as if our converted European river barge has been super-sized like a soft drink and poured into the shiny plastic container of the North American RV, a craft I look upon with mixed feelings. On the one hand, those gas guzzling behemoths seem an irresponsible indulgence in an era when climate change has replaced nuclear war as the trigger for Armageddon. On the other, seniors like my own mother can travel in them for months around the continent like so many motorized turtles shuffling along the highways. If you’re going to travel, why not do it with a second home on your back?
Inside, we discover sleeping quarters for 14, a flat-screen TV, a kitchen better equipped than our own and a hot tub on the roof. We’ll be cruising the deep, unruffled headwaters above the Mactaquac Dam in comfort. Following operating instructions from owner Larry Jewett, we set out for adventure. A rare wind blows today, the wind Larry warned us would run straight down the 25 km stretch called Coac Reach and whip up white caps that could rock our floating RV so violently as to spill water over the sides of the hot tub. You just can’t mess with that kind of danger, so we pull up to a very small island, ground the pontoons on the gravel shore and set out to explore the half acre. Later, we four men, including Forrest, kill time by boiling ourselves in the hot tub, then throwing ourselves down the slide into the icy river – I swear I hear a hiss as each of us hits the water.
Near dusk, the wind dies and we’re able to cross the river and land in a cove for the night. We send out an expedition to ascertain if the natives are friendly. The search party returns with news of a waterfall, so we all go to explore. That night after a feast of leek and chicken pie that Rebecca made before leaving home, we reheat the hot tub. Away from artificial light, the stars float in a fluorescent stream across the frosty night sky. Lazy from the heat, we rest our heads on the hot tub rim and cook until we can take it no more. Sleep comes easy.
History With Friends
The next morning, we motor through thick, autumn mist back to the river. The crew expounds on the benefits of progress at a beaver’s pace. This is a holiday, says one, where you have no choice but to enjoy the fall colours and watch the passing scenery as if shuffling through a museum of landscape paintings.
We haven’t gone far – maybe a kilometre – when we make a scheduled stop on the shores of Kings Landing Historical Settlement. This river proved as bountiful for European settlers as for the aboriginal Maliseet they found here. Most of the 15 houses and additional buildings of this living museum were moved here board by board to save them from the rising waters of the river following completion of the dam. This artificial farming settlement can’t substitute for the medieval villages we imagined line the banks of the Seine, but the interpreters working with horses and cooking in the kitchens totally charm us.
Here, we meet up with friends, Sandra and her two young sons, Bailey and Rees, who immediately conspire with Forrest and tear off up the dirt road out of sight. Forrest’s dad, Scott follows at a discrete distance. When he doesn’t return with the boys, we go in search. Scott admits to getting distracted by the workhorses and chatting up their keeper. “I could have talked to him for a couple of hours.” On our way back to the houseboat, Alison takes lots of photos to keep her in painting subjects for the coming winter.
After a quick cruise in the houseboat during which the boys play Captain with Lester and climb in and out of the hot tub, we put them ashore with their mom and at the same time pick up our friend Helene and her brother who happen to be visiting their parents’ home on the river. A couple of beers later and we bid them farewell, too. We have just enough daylight left to reach the planned forestry town of Nackawic – well short of the houseboat’s upstream limit of Woodstock, another 40 kms away – and return to another cove downstream for the night.
Home Stretch
To be honest, one is likely to approach Nackawic with a sense of trepidation that only grows as the plumes from the pulp mill come into view and the 55 ton Nackawic axe – reputedly the world’s largest – looms. But to be sure, this 15 metre high roadside attraction stands with Sudbury’s 10 metre nickel, Caraquet’s Godzilla-sized lobster and Golden’s canoe paddle crafted from a single giant log as Canada’s best kitsch.
With one night remaining, we turn about and head downriver. Forrest tries a little wave boarding. Captain Lester put the hammer down, “Let’s see what this thing can do,” and we set out at the breakneck speed of four knots, upwards of 7.5 kms per hour, just the pace we longed for back on that bridge over the Seine. But it’s not enough to lift Forrest out of the water without help from his dad, pulling on the tow rope. Alison lounges in the hot tub with more success as we cruise toward the finish line. Others spend the final hours reading in the sun or just watching the slowing passing scenery.
My guess is that no giant axes loom over the French countryside and no slapped-together 200-year-old village would call itself historic. Europe’s loss, I say. A barge converted into a home on the Seine has a chance of making history with friends, but where I ask are the miles and miles of wilderness, the quiet, the dark night skies, the super-sized floating RV’s?
Axe at Nackawic
Photo Credits
All photos by Darcy Rhyno – All Rights Reserved
Great story Darcy, but I only have one negative comment. As a native of Saint John, NB, just know that it really erks people from SAINT JOHN and it water ways to mis-spell our city’s name. St. John’s is in Newfoundland and although it is also a beautiful city, SAINT JOHN, NB is spelled out the long way as is the Saint John River. Just wanted to clarify.
What a dilightful read….so many great memories made …makes me want to go! Thanks.
Thanks Pat. Memories aplenty. It was almost a year ago, and we still talk about it often and fondly. Hope you get to try it some day.
Really enjoyed the story. What a great way to vacation. So peaceful. Well written.
Thank you. Yes, it really was peaceful. We decided that was the point of a houseboat holiday. You can’t go anywhere but along the river very slowly, so you are forced to slow down, kick back, enjoy good company, good food and a few drinks.