Uncle Emil will be out of the office for the foreseeable future as he's visiting his soft-brained nephew who sometimes goes by the moniker of Coolfront. Occasionally he digs himself a hole and tries to drag others in with him. Has no regard for their possibly fatal attacks of boredom. I'm going there to bail him and them out. Mostly them. He can worm his own way out for all I care.
See you in a while,
Emil Schonnemann
P.S. Coolfront can be found at deadmanlake.blogspot.com
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Things Change?
Me and Mark have spent a lot of time hashing and rehashing his trips with Al. When Mark goes off and leaves me for a while, I set down on my duff and do some mulling of my own. He thinks he's smart, even tells you he's not just to throw you off the trail. Truth is, most of the time he's wandering around with his head either in the clouds or up his kiester. Same difference I say. So its up to me to put it all together and make sense of his life. I like to shuffle up his deck once in a while and see what kind of hand I can lay out. When he was younger, he felt compelled to speak his mind. He thought he could see through the BS but it was me, behind the scenes, pulling the strings, givin' him a gentle nudge once in a while when I thought he needed it. Got him to say and do some seriously strange things in front a crowd of people.
Like the time he had Lois put clown makeup on his face at a company affair. Stripped down to long johns and shorts, discretely colorful of course, in front of a hundred employees and their wives. Long story short, got his boss' boss hit with a banana cream pie. Most every one there had a great time. Except Coolfront and the higher-up. One was pissed, the other at the top of the shit list. He thought the idea was his own. Wasn't.
Those days had to end, or so he decided all on his little own. Decided that was a corner of his soul that needed resting. Put to pasture. Let it heal over. Hell, it wasn't a bad part of him. Maybe it was his best side. Got people thinking. But he decided it was over. He had to walk away. Walked away for twenty freaking years. How many things even live twenty years?
As for me, there was no need to let it be. I'd whisper in his ear once in a while but he wouldn't listen. So finally we stopped talking about it. Until a couple of nights ago that is. Coolfront started a new Deadman entry about Grass River Park. He wanted it to go one way, the mellow way, that's the way that the world goes round kind of way. But not me. Damn it, I wanted my say also. Life's short. Even for a guy who's never been alive. And... and once in a while you've got to listen to the old guys. At least the one's who've been paying attention to what's going down.
So let's talk about Grass River Provincial Park. Twenty-two hundred square kilometers, hundred plus lakes, lotsa fish, remote campsites, blah, blah, blah. More to the point, the park is an odd duck. It has wilderness areas that surpass the Boundary Waters. Areas you have to work up several sweats to reach by canoe and portage. But also few lakes that don't have a fishing boat or two stashed at the end of those portages. A lot like the BWCA before it was the BWCA. Spend a few days on a remote lake you've worked two full days to reach and there's no doubt you'll share it now and then with a 9.9 Merc. As such, it's more of a people's park than the Boundary Waters. You'll also see far fewer canoes. Markie boy ain't seen another in his seven trips. Plus, Grass River's remote lakes have far less fishing pressure than the most remote lakes of Minnesota.
Night is a joy in Grass River Park. On those rare days when the motor boat people show up, they hang around for a few hours then head back to the lodge about the time the Coleman is fired up. Then the lake is Mark and Al's for the best fishing hours of the day. By the way, no restrictions on bottles and cans. Just make sure you hump them back out. Sometimes the lake is theirs for three or four days running. Definitely not Minnesota.
No way its a true wilderness, whatever the heck a true wilderness is. Doubt you'd be eaten by bears or wolves. But step in caribou crap? You betcha. As for the wilderness question, the boys don't much care. Being the only souls on two thousand acres of water surrounded by a hundred islands is enough for them. So anyhow, here's what Coolfront wrote:
The other day I brought up Grass River Park on the internet. Like visiting an old friend. With maybe some new pictures. Allan and I have done six trips in the park and one to the immediate north. Spent more time there than anywhere outside of Minnesota and my time in the Army. Grass River is a big deal to me. I feel at home there.
The latest news, though its not new news by any means, has to do with a proposed logging road in the northern part of the park. Boom! One more Paul Bunyan-like foot print in the woods. Definitely not the first for the area. There once was an east-west railroad line across what eventually became Grass River Park. It was a commercial venture no doubt. But way back in the first half of the last century it could be used by wilderness seekers to access jumping off points. When done, they'd pick it up somewhere else on the line. Legendary stuff from my childhood. Sigurd Olson used a train to access the Rat River system. The track knocked a hole in the wilderness but since it was before my time, I saw it as a given. A part of the way the world was. Then the rail line across the park was torn up and the right-of-way graded. Now it was car accessible. I'm only guessing here but it seems like the rail removal was a step towards wilderness. The road turned that all around. Maybe that was the intention all along, I don't know for sure.
Its from this grade that the proposed logging road extends. I can't say this makes me mad. Can't say it pains me. Can't say nothing at all. It's not my country. I'm a guest there. But things change. And not always for the better.
In my thirty-two years at FedEx, I saw the foot of change stuck in the door crack many times. Once it went in, it never came out. Seems the way things are set up in this world you've got to say no forever and yes only once. Then it all starts to tumble. Maybe not in Grass River Park but.... I think the word is entropy. Things break down. Smaller and smaller. This isn't a big world anymore. It has limits. Guess I should get off the soapbox now.
Emil: This is where I stepped in and gave Coolfront a little a little prod. Get him a little closer to ranting like the old days. He doesn't have the juice like he used to. But he ain't dead yet. Go get 'em boy. Oops. Back when he was working there was always a work group to get riled up. Bosses to piss off. No more anyone to go get-'em to. Now he's stuck with only the wind to howl into.
A person can see where this all heads. No mystery at all. So what's the answer? Leave all the boonies alone? Don't ever go into the woods? Fence them off? To what purpose? Seems like worldwide, no matter where or what, a canoe inevitable ends up as a bulldozer. We kill what we love. Maybe the moral is to enjoy it while you can.
Sorry. This isn't where I thought 'Things Change' was heading. Thought it would be a simple tale of acceptance. But I can't help it. Every time I run it though my mind, that's where she goes. In the crapper.
You ready for this? Probably are and had the same thought yourself at one time or another. Fools rule the world. Don't know if that's always been true but I suspect it mostly has. Funny part is that what constitutes a fool varies from person to person. Myself, I think most everyone in the upper levels of corporate management fits the description and no doubt if they had the slightest clue I existed, they'd think the same of me. Idiocy is in the eye of the beholder.
My view of life is limited. Let me repeat that. My view of life is limited. And it pretty much looks in two directions. Inward toward self, family and friends. Outward toward the structured world. Each effects the other. Inward, I see hope and love, people trying to hold the world together. Outward, things fall apart.
My outward world, my personal experience of it, came in the form of a wartime Army and half a lifetime on the job. In both, I saw how leaders were chosen. Step one, you had to want it. Not a good start. Each following step up the ladder was a weeding process determined by your acceptance of the status quo and you ability to keep it going. Grow or die. No view of the big picture, life on the planet for all living things. To hell with most everything except the life of the corporation. Simple enough - maybe too simple. Should be interesting to see how it all pans out. Then maybe ask the Dr. Phil question, "How'd that work out for you?"
Haven't written or said anything like this in a couple of decades. Dredges up crap I'd have soon left buried.
Am I part of the problem? You bet. I've got my own chunked off 8.72 acres. Divvy, divide, slice up. Smaller and smaller. Gotta admit I feel trapped at times. So what am I gonna do? The hair shirt sucks so I'll leave that in the closet for some other would-be saint to wear. Given the choice I'd spend a fair amount of time writing, looking up once in a while to watch the trees move, maybe catch a couple of bluegills to see how they look, be with the one's I love. Simple truth.
As for the logging road; it'll either get built or it won't. Mostly I hope it doesn't but, like I said, it's not my call.
Like the time he had Lois put clown makeup on his face at a company affair. Stripped down to long johns and shorts, discretely colorful of course, in front of a hundred employees and their wives. Long story short, got his boss' boss hit with a banana cream pie. Most every one there had a great time. Except Coolfront and the higher-up. One was pissed, the other at the top of the shit list. He thought the idea was his own. Wasn't.
Those days had to end, or so he decided all on his little own. Decided that was a corner of his soul that needed resting. Put to pasture. Let it heal over. Hell, it wasn't a bad part of him. Maybe it was his best side. Got people thinking. But he decided it was over. He had to walk away. Walked away for twenty freaking years. How many things even live twenty years?
As for me, there was no need to let it be. I'd whisper in his ear once in a while but he wouldn't listen. So finally we stopped talking about it. Until a couple of nights ago that is. Coolfront started a new Deadman entry about Grass River Park. He wanted it to go one way, the mellow way, that's the way that the world goes round kind of way. But not me. Damn it, I wanted my say also. Life's short. Even for a guy who's never been alive. And... and once in a while you've got to listen to the old guys. At least the one's who've been paying attention to what's going down.
So let's talk about Grass River Provincial Park. Twenty-two hundred square kilometers, hundred plus lakes, lotsa fish, remote campsites, blah, blah, blah. More to the point, the park is an odd duck. It has wilderness areas that surpass the Boundary Waters. Areas you have to work up several sweats to reach by canoe and portage. But also few lakes that don't have a fishing boat or two stashed at the end of those portages. A lot like the BWCA before it was the BWCA. Spend a few days on a remote lake you've worked two full days to reach and there's no doubt you'll share it now and then with a 9.9 Merc. As such, it's more of a people's park than the Boundary Waters. You'll also see far fewer canoes. Markie boy ain't seen another in his seven trips. Plus, Grass River's remote lakes have far less fishing pressure than the most remote lakes of Minnesota.
Night is a joy in Grass River Park. On those rare days when the motor boat people show up, they hang around for a few hours then head back to the lodge about the time the Coleman is fired up. Then the lake is Mark and Al's for the best fishing hours of the day. By the way, no restrictions on bottles and cans. Just make sure you hump them back out. Sometimes the lake is theirs for three or four days running. Definitely not Minnesota.
No way its a true wilderness, whatever the heck a true wilderness is. Doubt you'd be eaten by bears or wolves. But step in caribou crap? You betcha. As for the wilderness question, the boys don't much care. Being the only souls on two thousand acres of water surrounded by a hundred islands is enough for them. So anyhow, here's what Coolfront wrote:
The other day I brought up Grass River Park on the internet. Like visiting an old friend. With maybe some new pictures. Allan and I have done six trips in the park and one to the immediate north. Spent more time there than anywhere outside of Minnesota and my time in the Army. Grass River is a big deal to me. I feel at home there.
The latest news, though its not new news by any means, has to do with a proposed logging road in the northern part of the park. Boom! One more Paul Bunyan-like foot print in the woods. Definitely not the first for the area. There once was an east-west railroad line across what eventually became Grass River Park. It was a commercial venture no doubt. But way back in the first half of the last century it could be used by wilderness seekers to access jumping off points. When done, they'd pick it up somewhere else on the line. Legendary stuff from my childhood. Sigurd Olson used a train to access the Rat River system. The track knocked a hole in the wilderness but since it was before my time, I saw it as a given. A part of the way the world was. Then the rail line across the park was torn up and the right-of-way graded. Now it was car accessible. I'm only guessing here but it seems like the rail removal was a step towards wilderness. The road turned that all around. Maybe that was the intention all along, I don't know for sure.
Its from this grade that the proposed logging road extends. I can't say this makes me mad. Can't say it pains me. Can't say nothing at all. It's not my country. I'm a guest there. But things change. And not always for the better.
In my thirty-two years at FedEx, I saw the foot of change stuck in the door crack many times. Once it went in, it never came out. Seems the way things are set up in this world you've got to say no forever and yes only once. Then it all starts to tumble. Maybe not in Grass River Park but.... I think the word is entropy. Things break down. Smaller and smaller. This isn't a big world anymore. It has limits. Guess I should get off the soapbox now.
Emil: This is where I stepped in and gave Coolfront a little a little prod. Get him a little closer to ranting like the old days. He doesn't have the juice like he used to. But he ain't dead yet. Go get 'em boy. Oops. Back when he was working there was always a work group to get riled up. Bosses to piss off. No more anyone to go get-'em to. Now he's stuck with only the wind to howl into.
A person can see where this all heads. No mystery at all. So what's the answer? Leave all the boonies alone? Don't ever go into the woods? Fence them off? To what purpose? Seems like worldwide, no matter where or what, a canoe inevitable ends up as a bulldozer. We kill what we love. Maybe the moral is to enjoy it while you can.
Sorry. This isn't where I thought 'Things Change' was heading. Thought it would be a simple tale of acceptance. But I can't help it. Every time I run it though my mind, that's where she goes. In the crapper.
You ready for this? Probably are and had the same thought yourself at one time or another. Fools rule the world. Don't know if that's always been true but I suspect it mostly has. Funny part is that what constitutes a fool varies from person to person. Myself, I think most everyone in the upper levels of corporate management fits the description and no doubt if they had the slightest clue I existed, they'd think the same of me. Idiocy is in the eye of the beholder.
My view of life is limited. Let me repeat that. My view of life is limited. And it pretty much looks in two directions. Inward toward self, family and friends. Outward toward the structured world. Each effects the other. Inward, I see hope and love, people trying to hold the world together. Outward, things fall apart.
My outward world, my personal experience of it, came in the form of a wartime Army and half a lifetime on the job. In both, I saw how leaders were chosen. Step one, you had to want it. Not a good start. Each following step up the ladder was a weeding process determined by your acceptance of the status quo and you ability to keep it going. Grow or die. No view of the big picture, life on the planet for all living things. To hell with most everything except the life of the corporation. Simple enough - maybe too simple. Should be interesting to see how it all pans out. Then maybe ask the Dr. Phil question, "How'd that work out for you?"
Haven't written or said anything like this in a couple of decades. Dredges up crap I'd have soon left buried.
Am I part of the problem? You bet. I've got my own chunked off 8.72 acres. Divvy, divide, slice up. Smaller and smaller. Gotta admit I feel trapped at times. So what am I gonna do? The hair shirt sucks so I'll leave that in the closet for some other would-be saint to wear. Given the choice I'd spend a fair amount of time writing, looking up once in a while to watch the trees move, maybe catch a couple of bluegills to see how they look, be with the one's I love. Simple truth.
As for the logging road; it'll either get built or it won't. Mostly I hope it doesn't but, like I said, it's not my call.
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