Uncle Emil's ten horse Johnson moved us right along. Not like the big engines of today but still we crossed the four mile lake in under twenty minutes. From my perch up front this was a thrill. For the first time since he picked me up at the station we were on the water, Canadian water. Holy crap, we were five hundred miles north of what I thought of as up north.
I began to dream of big fish. I mean truly huge fish. Nothing at all like the sunnies and bullheads of the Cities. And then there was the blue of the water beneath, the froth of the boat's wake fading to our rear and the islands we were soon passing. Damn, this was like something out of an outdoor magazine. The sun above sun and its reflection from the thousand little waves we kachunk-kachunked our way over had me squinty-eyed. I couldn't resist. Down went my cupped hand into the spray of the wake. First I washed my eyes then drank from First Cranberry. Emil smiled and gave me a thumbs up.
I pointed to the rocky outcrops of the first island we passed and yelled to Emil, "Does it have a name?" Emil bellowed back over the motor's whiny rumble, "Probably does! Your guess is as good as mine as to what it might be!" Just like me he had an apple pie eating grin on his face. I was thrilled to be where I was. Emil seemed to feed off my joy. And was happy being in a place he loved. The world wasn't passing by as we puttered along, we were surrounded by it. Could see, smell and taste it. And from a new angle every minute.
Not sure when it happened but Emil now had a pipe in his mouth instead of a cigarette. "It's what I do when up here. Kind of a tribute to the Voyageurs of a coupla centuries ago. When in Rome…. I also like the pipe because of the loose tobacco it needs. The Cree use tobacco to show thanks to the land, water, sky and woods around them. Don't know if they're right and don't know if they're wrong. But I do know it's the right thing to always be thankful for a gift. And being up here, doing what we're doing, is a gift. Leaving a pinch without paper at our camp sites feels right to me."
First Cranberry was the biggest lake I'd ever been on. Emil said it was good sized but in the general scheme of things up in the northland it was nothing out of the ordinary. But for me it was a sea. A sea with no outlet. Uncle Emil said we were heading toward a channel into the next lake called Second Cranberry, an even bigger lake. All I could see up ahead was shore, rock and trees and the slap of waves, no outlet anywhere. Sure hoped he knew what he was doing.
A few minutes from my first tingle of wilderness we hung a left into what had moments before been a wall of forest. There, off to our left spread a lodge in a large clearing surrounded by birch and pines. The Canadian flag flapped high above on a wooden pole, surrounded at the base by a little white rock bordered flower garden. Boats, cabins, sand beach, docks and a small, clipped lawn. Order in the boonies. Plus a few Canadian style, good old boys clustered at the end of a pier with their mitts wrapped around brown beer bottles. Looked like a convention of plaid shirted salesmen with time on their hands.
Emil slipped up alongside them with a jaunty "good afternoon gentlemen." Hopped out and secured the Lund. "Might any of you know the whereabouts of Blair?"
"He's up to da office, eh? Good seein' you Emil. How's life down in da States and who might dat young man be? You finally bringin' someone along who'll show you da right way to wet a line, eh?"
That led to five minutes of handshakes and short stories. Seemed even old guys acted like kids when there were no ladies around.
"Grab yourself a LaBatt's outta da cooler on da way up. Might even be a coke in dere for the lad."
All the while I had a smile on my face, said my name when introduced and even shook hands. The old guys were kidding with me but there was something about them that said, 'there stands the next generation.' And figured if the kid's with Emil, he's more than welcome.
The lodge wasn't what you'd call a grand affair. A row of small clapboard cabins, a few out buildings, boats with outboards ready to go and lined up along the pole lined shore. The cabins were small, white painted, red trimmed affairs. I guessed there was little need for opulence when the guests spent most of their time on the water.
The main building was somewhat larger but still not much when compared to the pictures I'd seen of places like the lodge in Yellowstone National Park. The stone paved path leading to the front door passed through a recently mowed lawn. Inside stood wall coolers of bait and beverages. The knotty pine walls were decorated with an elk's head, stuffed geese and hawks, bear skins and a variety of other critters probably killed nearby. But what drew me were the mounted walleyes and lake trout. Monster fish with glowing eyes, mouths open and pointy little teeth. I searched all the surfaces but found not one pike. Guess Uncle Emil wasn't kidding when he said the Canadians didn't think much of jack fish.
In the office we were greeted by a lady named Della. Turned out she was Blair's wife and pretty much ran the business side of the lodge. When Blair, clad in khaki head to booted feet, came out, seems he was indisposed, it was like old home week. At least for them. Friendly people, no doubt about it.
"Gotta cabin for you should you be stayin'. Clean sheets and all."
"Not this time Blair. The young man and I are off to the bush for a week or two. No roof over us. We're pushing off soon as we can. But maybe on our way out we'll take you up on your offer. For the moment, all I'm stopping for is my canoe and the chance to see your lovely wife."
"Sorry to hear that but if the backwoods is what you're after and it looks like you've got someone with you just chompin' at the bit, then it's the canoe for you, eh."
We headed out back to a huge shed. There, in the shadows of the deepest corner, atop a pair of saw horses, perched a soft glisten of aluminum. The downturned Grumman had a year's layering of dust and a bird's nest resting beneath on a thwart. Outside of that and a few deep scratches she was a thing of graceful beauty.
Emil ducked under and pulled out three paddles. All had razor thin, red tipped blades and were of a single piece of ash varnished to a tabletop sheen that came alive when we washed them off at the channel. He handed them to me to set in the Lund for the moment. Back at the shed, Emil carefully lifted out the bird nest, popped the canoe on his shoulders and we returned to the beach.
On the way, Emil asked Blair if he could spare a small block from the ice house. No sooner said than done. Finally we pulled out my suitcase. "Shoulda done this back at the car," he said. "Guess I wasn't thinking."
Emil sorted my clothes into two stacks, staying and going. The staying pile was returned to the suitcase and left at the lodge. "Best not forget this when we come back or our goose is cooked." He then added my few things going to a green, waterproof sack already filled with what Emil figured I'd need in the bush from rain gear to long johns. Double cinched it tight and added the sack to one of the big back packs. Emil called them Duluth Packs.
Once the canoe had been doused, we settled down, coke and beer in hand for a few minutes while the boat drained. Emil stoked up his pipe and said, "Archie me lad, we're almost there."
Our rest lasted but ten minutes. I could see he was as excited as me. Just itching to go. Couldn't sit still. From the Lund Uncle Emil pulled out a ragged bath towel and sponge to wipe and dry the inside of the canoe.
"Good. Look at her for a moment. That's as clean as she'll be for a while." And he almost giggled.
He called to the dock, "Will you boys be willing to set down your beers for a minute and lend an old fart a hand?" Two minutes later the Lund was well up on shore and upturned over the Johnson and gas can.
"One more thing." Out of a pack came a pair of duck boots. "Hope these fit. Anyhow they're the size your mother told me." Though I was only fourteen I was a good sized kid, taller than Emil with feet to match. Already had an inkling of what work was like. The prospect of spending a week or more in the boonies was exciting. This was gonna be one fine time.
My new boots on, laced and wrapped at the top, pants tucked in, we finished loading the canoe while it was afloat beside the dock. Cooler under the carrying yoke, food pack in front of the cooler, clothes and gear packs to the rear, day pack under Emil's seat and Coleman stove under mine. Lastly, the bundled rod tubes and extra paddle were stowed and the whole shebang tied to the thwarts with a length of cord. All was between the two seats.
Before pushing off Emil returned to the lodge. Moments later, when he returned, there was a new glass eye in place. This one with a canoe for a pupil. I didn't notice it right off but a clearing of throat and a finger point from Uncle Emil got my attention.
Emil handed me a paddle. "This was Lena's. Made it myself. She never actually used it, guess it was too long but I made it for her just in case she ever decided to see what it was like to crap in the woods." Blond wood with tip painted red and ashine with many coats of spar varnish.
"Try this on for size."
The green life jacket he handed me seemed to fit okay but what did I know? A minute of Emil tugging, tightening and tying had it fitting snugly.
"Can you breathe okay? Don't want you suffocating just 'cause I'm tryin to keep you alive. Archie me lad when you're in a canoe with me, you always wear your life jacket. No ifs, ands, or buts. Simple as that. The boys up here razz me a bit but I don't much care. Giving me grief is what they're supposed to do. Me, I'm supposed to float head up if I ever fall out of a canoe. Okay?"
Turning toward the Grumman Emil pulled the gunwale tight to the grayed dock and told me to hop in. "Three points of contact always. Two hands on the gunwales, then step into the middle, one foot at a time. Simple as pie."
Moments later we were afloat. "See you gentlemen next year if not sooner."
A wave and we were gone.
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