At Peter Pond Lake in Northern Alberta, Donaldson was nearly murdered. A man came up behnd him with a gun, put his arm around his neck and demanded money. Donaldson had none. The man turned to face him, pointing the rifle at his chest. Not taking the man seriously Donaldson pushed the barrel away. The man quickly brought the barrel up to his forehead where Donaldson recounts, "I could see the grains of sand down the barrel." As the man squeezed the trigger there was a click. The gun was empty. But it was no joke. The man was drunk and had neglected to load the gun. As he fumbled for bullets, Donaldson turned, jumped in his canoe and began paddling away expecting to be shot in the back at any moment. Two days later in a scene reminiscent of frontier days, Donaldson found an RCMP post. A surprised Mountie asked, "Why did it take you two days to get here?" The police had been looking for the man who was out on parole, they told Donaldson, "he would have killed you for sure."

This encounter was the exception to the people Donaldson met. Wherever the canoeist went, he found hospitality from all types of people. He says in fact that of all the experiences he encountered along the waterways of Canada, nothing prepared him for the humanity and understanding of the people he met. At Fort Chipewyan on the shores of the perilous Lake Athabasca he told of having coffee with an elderly Indian lady. "When I was leaving, she gently wished me luck and cautioned me to be careful as the lake was very treacherous. Later, I learned that she had lost all five sons on the great lake."

Donaldson passionately declares that, "despite all the garbage we hear from political spin doctors, there is a deep longing by all Canadians for reinforcement of the historical ties that bind us as citizens of this great country. We have many spiritual giants in our isolated communities but their voice is rarely heard. Maybe we all have to learn to take up our own personal odyssey"

Donaldson met one such inspiring character in Northern Manitoba. Known as "old sasquatch" he is one individual that wilderness embraced and healed. Holed up in squalor in Winnipeg's skid row, he lived a solitary friendless existence between his pension cheque day, tavern, and oblivion. Drinking his life away he found the courage one day to put his wasted years behind him. Aided by the manager of a fishing camp, he set himself up in a disused 100-year-old cabin as his summer residence and even throughout the formidable Northern Manitoba winter. Sober now for years, he enjoys his many "friends". These friends are bears,wolves, coyotes, fox, beaver, pelicans. Any form of life is a welcome guest at his cabin. He will not allow anyone to shoot them and they seem to sense that he is a friendly presence. Having no electricity, he cuts his lumber and pulls it by sled to the cabin. The harsh minus fifty winter solitude does not bother him one bit. He has found fulfillment in the wilderness.