Memories of John Wood -- Hugh Fisher

We have heroes. John Wood was mine.

From my earliest CCA it was John Wood. It was always John Wood.. always # 1 ahead of the rest ... like spring coming before summer. Jeremy Abbott once penned on a boathouse wall “Canoeing is not a metaphor for life ... it is life” and for me in those years 1974 and 75 and 76 and 77 nothing was more true and for me, at the hard center of this notion and what made it so absolutely believable was the amazing John Wood.

In 1976 Mac had us four paddlers -- NOT named Oldershaw -- make up a K-4, ... Patasi, Tollas, Fournel and me. We trained in Mississauga before the games. Train hard then train harder says Mac cause "John trains harder, you know". I stayed at John's house tailing him, copying him, chasing him when running to the boathouse.

At the games all of us reveled in his medal. Our only true champion. Lots have come after but he was the first in decades to get the medal job done, the first of the modern era ... his legacy of hard work and scientific training still the model for Mark and Adam and all the rest. Train hard, train smart.

A few stories:

The day after his '76 medal, I was leaving the Basin Olympique grandstand when a limo pulls up. I must have been wearing a Canada top because a guy jumps out of the limo and asks me if I know where "John Wood silver medallist" is .... and I say, he's is just behind me coming out of the grandstand and he asks me if I would like to meet Prime Minister Pierre Trudeau "who has come down to congratulate John on his medal winning finish" and I say, “of course”, and a fit looking and excited Pierre Trudeau gets out of the limo and comes over with a couple of others and begins to chat away to me saying “what a great event this is" and so on ... and I see over in the distance John emerge from the grandstand with the guy who was looking for him and they get closer 20 yards away,.... 10 yards away and John looks happy and proud, changing his bag to his left hand so he can shake the hand of the Prime Minister ... 5 yards away and Pierre leans over to me, just about ready to extend his hand to John, and whispers to me ... "What's his name?".

John loved to compete and loved to win. A few years ago he came out to Whistler to ski and calls me up and I get out the skinny skiis and meet John and we bomb around the Lost Lake trails. The hardest trail, the cardiac hill of Whistler is called Polars Road, a steep uphill climb of about 500 meters. And of course like two old racers we begin to push each other and towards the top, just like he always did in canoe, he takes a lead and extends it 2 or 3 yards and finally we are over the crest, lungs bursting, legs ready to fall off and he turns to me and says he ... "Funny how my skiis are a little faster than yours ... on the uphills".

Though old Pierre What's-his-name might have had trouble, I won't forget John Wood ... not his name, not his accomplishments, not our shared times, not his wisdom, not his advice, not his foresight, not his paddling and .... not his skiing.

Today, as Mike reads this, I am working in a little northern Alberta town called Spirit River. The name of the town in some sadly ironic way makes me ponder the awful events of this past week and think about John's spirit, that fun, humble, positive, thoughtful, intense, proud competitive spirit of John.

I wonder to myself if the spirit of a man really just stops, like the heart stops when one passes away. I think not. Surely, even in this darkest time, John's spirit has passed on to all who called John teammate, partner friend, father, husband, competitor ... and I think, by remembering the joy that John brought to us when we shared in some experience with him, we carry within ourselves, burning on now as part of our own spirit, a little bit of this great man.

At this moment when I think of John and the why of it all, I think of that beautiful gentle record in Wolf Ruck's film of John paddling away from us, sunshine sending little diamonds of light off the ripples and the bow wave and his paddle spray, his strong back and strong arms thrusting his canoe toward some new finish line that at the very end only he could see.

( Read by Mike Wood)