Canada XXX - Saddle Up

     "Archie me lad, the fun's over.  Or just beginning depending on your point of view or the state of your back.  I'll give you a hand with your pack."
     Emil hoisted one of the smaller packs and I squirmed my way into the straps.  Didn't actually feel too heavy 'til he let go.  Then I sunk at least two inches into the rocky soil.  Maybe split the continental shield.
     "Grab a pair of paddles and you're off.  Stay on the path.  When you come to a fork, go right.  Eventually you might come to a big puddle.  By big I mean bigger than a house big.  Wait for me there.  If the puddle's not there or you can find a way around and still keep your feet dry, head on 'til you run into the lake.  Any doubts anywhere, give out a yell.  I won't be but a half minute behind.  See you when I see you."
     I was off.  Stumblingly off.  Into the woods.  No one anywhere but me and Emil.  Holy smokes Rocky.  Lions and tigers and bears.  But the path was wide.  Easy to follow.  Five minutes along and sure enough, there was the fork.
     All was fine and dandy.  Except for the pack.  That bugger was mean heavy.  Made my legs feel like rubber.  By the time I hit the fork the straps were beginning to separate my shoulders from my neck.  Oh me, oh my.  When I felt the first trickle of sweat I feared it was blood from my torn flesh.
     Traipsing through the forest the only sounds I heard were the hollow thumps of my footfalls, my wheezing and the creaking of the leather straps.  Under foot passed dirt, rock and root for as far as I cared to look, which was about a stumble's distance.  Little puddles now and then.  'Cause I had the duck boots I saw no sense in going around any stinking puddles.  Trudged through.  Uncle Emil said most of the portages had started out as animal trails.  Seemed right to me since the portage we were on didn't shoot a straight line but wound around like a squirrel looking for acorns in a woods without an oak tree.  No sir, this was nothing like a highway or sidewalk built by anything with a lick of sense.
     Since I had time to think and thinking took my mind off the pack, I came to the conclusion nothing in the world before the arrival of pen and pencil, followed the straight lines we draw on maps.  Mostly nature's trails take the easy way.  Goes around the lake, avoids the hill, has no need of swamp, doesn't run into the tree.  It seemed the paths were made by people and animals smart enough to know the right way to travel.  Could be what seemed roundabout to me was actually the quickest way to get where we were going.
     Above, thin patches of blue sky peeked through the bower of needle and leaf.  So much green above, around and below even the air was tinted jade.  In a way it felt like being in church, a big one like a cathedral with ornate pillars and all.
     Now and then I had to work my way over or around a deadfall.  Simple, hard work.  When necessary, I broke my way through the side brush.  My slow and surely inevitable death from terminal strap pain was interrupted by a loud, hollow bang to my rear.  And a mumbled cursing that sounded like it was coming from inside a barrel.  Turned out Uncle Emil had thumped square into one of the spruces angling over the path.  Made me feel good I wasn't alone.  But at the moment I wasn't sure Emil felt the same way.
     Around the next bend waited the puddle, just like Emil said.  Turned out to be more of a pond than a puddle.  Time to pause for the thumper to show up.  Paddles went down on a tussock, followed immediately by the thump of my pack.  In a few seconds my body began to rise to its full length.  Felt like I could float and rise to the treetops.  Weird indeed.
     Emil arrived a minute later.  Wasn't huffing as much as puffing.  A cloud billowed its way out from beneath the overturned Grumman.  "I tell you Archie and it's the gospel truth, don't ever fire up a pipe and throw a canoe over your head.  It was like a gas chamber in there."
     While gasping that out he rolled the canoe off his shoulders and wormed out of the day pack.  Quite a load for an old man.
     He checked the pond in both directions.  "Let's you and me have us a look-see before committing ourselves to what might turn out to be sheer stupidity."  Off to the right we went, spreading our way through the brush and stomping over jackstrawed deadfall.  Emil stopped midway around and scoped the remainder.  "This'll do."
     "I'll lead the way.  Best you follow a ways behind so I don't whack you with seventeen feet of aluminum.  And pay no heed to what I might say should I again ram one of these spruces.  And no doubt I will."
     This time I shouldered my own pack.  Emil loaded, snapped the canoe to his thighs, then his shoulders with two quick moves.  Tough old buzzard.  Once again we were off, Emil thumping trunks and grinding his way through the thicket.  For me it was an up and over slog with a touch of branch in the butt as I straddled over the barky deadfalls.  Finally we were back on the blessed portage trail.  What ten minutes earlier had seemed a misery was now a walk in the park.
     Slowly the air brightened.  A glimpse above told me there was a break in the tree cover not far ahead.  The lake.  Wedge Lake as it turned out.  Along the shore slept three aluminum fishing boats waiting patiently to be overturned and hit the water.
     "Lodge boats," said Emil to the question I hadn't asked.  "They're for the sports who rent the cabins but want a few hours in the bush.  Makes their whiskey and soda go down more manly about the time they belly up to the dinner table.  Did it a few times myself 'til I realized where I truly wanted to be, out here under the stars and canvas with the loons to sing me to sleep."
     When Uncle Emil wanted to make a point, when he wanted me to listen up, he'd slow down his cadence of words.  Pause now and then to search for the right one so I'd get his drift.  But he never nailed the lesson down.  Kinda worked his way around it.  Left a hole in the middle I was supposed to fill in myself.  Sometimes it'd take me a while to get the meat.  Minutes, weeks, years, decades even.  Most of all he wanted me to mull things over.  Dig a little deeper.  Never accept any thing or idea as the complete truth.  Keep searching 'til the day I sprouted lilies.  And maybe catch a few pickerel on the way.
     "There's a couple of packs wanting our company at the other end of the portage.  Figure they might come in handy so let's you and me head back that way."  Turned out our unfettered return for a reload was enough break to refresh us.