There's not much to be said about our last day. Another bugger for sure. The portage trail was as good as not there but didn't require the use of a compass. Jumble, jackstraw and wet in places. Emil was right about it not being the difficulty of two days earlier. Barely took four hours. A cakewalk, or crawl, or climb.
The paddle back to the lodge wasn't much of a reprieve. A brisk headwind made progress slow and not sure. We did a lot of island tucking and resting. Might have been low on calories and seriously deflated after all we'd gone through. Simply put, the trip was near over. Kaput.
We arrived at the lodge mid-afternoon. Not much damage there at all. A few trees down and already sawed and split into firewood.
Seemed there'd been some concern over our whereabouts and thought given to a rescue trip should we not show up in a couple of days. Nice to know we wouldn't have been stuck out in the bush for too long. I guess saying we were fortunate covers it nicely.
We both looked like we'd been dragged out the backside of a mudslide with a side order of pitch and bark. Dirty head to foot but our hands were clean. Blair set us up at the lodge for the night with the stipulation that we bathe first. Didn't want us stinking out the paying customers I suppose. Even threw in a couple of hot meals to complete the deal. Emil got his LaBatts. The best they could do for a coke was a couple of small bottles. No complaints. Topping it all off was a mattress with clean sheets. I'd almost forgotten what they were like.
Come evening all the sports took off in their boats to limit out on pickerel. Me and Emil wandered down to the dock. We'd fished enough to last quite a while. The idea of doing what we did best, having time on our hands with nothing that needed doing, was enough for us. We watched the light dim and the sun go down over the Manitoba wilderness one last time. Talked of the future, mine wide open, Emil's growing shorter by the day. He said he wouldn't have it any other way.
That a mid-fifties man took a fourteen year old kid on a boonies trip was not questioned at the lodge. No point. Could just as easily have died out on the highway on the way up. Life's a series of chances with little control over the results. Yeah, what my Uncle Emil did was way off the chart as far as danger. But he knew what he was doing, at least as far as anyone could. It was his depth of instinct and knowledge in the face of the storm that saved us.
Emil drove me all the way home the next day. Up at daybreak, home at sunset. Long drive. Just miles on pavement. Yeah, home would be good but a part of me was still in the Canadian forest. Always would be. Damn. It was over.
We pulled up in front my mom's little white house. Emil reached over and pulled something out of the glove box, "These silver dollars and the one I gave you back in Alexandria were all minted the same year I was. Put them in a drawer or cigar box. Pull 'em out once in a while, think of your Uncle Emil and our days in the bush. If you're up for it, consider another trip next year."
Next year? Heck, I was ready to stay in the Nomad and head out right then. But I didn't. Emil came in for a cup of coffee and ended up spending the night. Most of the pitch was gone from our deeply tanned hands and faces. My mom did no more than raise an eyebrow when we told a very watered down version of our adventure. Good for her. Knowing her brother, she suspected there was more to the tale. But we were home, looked not a whole lot worse for wear and didn't smell too bad.
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