Rained most of the night. Not much wind, just wet and cold. Laid in the dark for a good half hour after waking up, thinking things over and trying not to fall back asleep. Not easy when the desire to rise is on the ebb. The tarp did its job. The ground was wet near the opening and the nylon ceiling above me was bedewed but the gear stayed dry. Me too. Knew for certain I'd get wet today even if the rain was done. The brush would consecrate me like a first time voyageur. Different from the little Frenchmen, I didn't feel the need to vow I'd leave the ladies alone. Mine has grown to be a quiet life though there's no telling what might happen should urge and opportunity run into each other. I'm no longer young but sure ain't old no matter what I've said in the past.
Finally fired up the stove under battleship gray clouds slowly steaming their way toward an enlightened pearl shade. No need to move 'til the tarp's dry. Should today's miles be similar to the last two, tonight I'll sleep no more than a half day's walk from my resupply. Like most mornings I took my time preparing the oatmeal. The texture had to be just so. Soft but not runny. Next I stirred in the brown sugar. Just enough to add a few brown-gold swirls to the color. Last came a palmful of raisins sprinkled with care to evenly distribute them. Properly done, two per spoonful. Three's a little decadent but doesn't raise the guilt hackles on the back of my neck. Not sick of oatmeal to this point in my life. I'm German, pattern eating is what I do. Hmmm, let's see. I had oatmeal for breakfast yesterday and most every morning since they added sound to movies. Oatmeal tomorrow? Mmmm-mmm! Sounds like a plan. And I do like the flavor almost as much as the ritual. Consider that a plus.
Yeah, I have my rituals. Lots of them. They give me something to lean on when facing fear. And believe me, I also have my share of fears. Inborn, innate, inbred, all the way down to my genes, fears. Had my fears of school when I wasn't prepared. Had 'em when I was. The old man when he was in a mood. Had 'em back in the days when I was a kid running hooch over the border. The Depression, the war, startin' a business, selling the business, Lena's cancer, investments, draggin' a fourteen year old kid off the map just to see a lake without a name, screwing up big time when building the cabin, spilling this oatmeal before I can eat it and tah-dah, death. And every one of those were fears that made sense. All my life, down underneath that calm, wise-cracking exterior, there's always lived a feeling of unease. Like something's waiting around the corner to scuff the toe of my spit shined shoes. I know it's not supposed to matter. Put your faith in God, let the Almighty handle the tough stuff. But I don't see it that way. I figure if we were put here for a reason, part of that reason is to figure things out on our own. And if there's no reason, there's also no choice but to figure it out on your own. Kind of like Archie says about being in the Army, I got myself into this mess, it's up to me to figure my way out. Time and time again 'til at the end, I turn into something else. Then, who knows? For now, I'll add three or four more raisins, lean back against this log bench facing the lake and enjoy the moment. Fear I'll get a wet backside on the damp ground but it'll dry when I hit the trail.
Always feels good to be on the trail. Walking's the easy part, packing takes care. Can't miss a thing. I carry only what I need, nothing more, nothing less. When the time comes to load, the check list's always based on food, clothing and shelter. Mentally check each off before leaving camp. Even scuff the fallen leaves around camp with a sneaker toe to see what might turn up. By noon my pack'll be well under forty pounds. Ate and drank seven of those pounds. Hope the wind doesn't blow me off my feet. Turned out I did a good job getting my body in shape for this stroll. Out here the miles are only tiring, not hike-ending. Sore toes, that's about it. All the sleep I'm getting helps a lot. Lights out around eight-thirty. By five-thirty I'm ready to get up. The dark says wait a few minutes, stretch a bit on top of the bag, warm your way into the day. Once up I run in place for a minute, do a few dozen jumping jacks. Might even do some pushups but don't like getting my nails any dirtier than they already are. Yup, I'm a regular mister fancy. Next I wash up at the lake as best I can. Odd thing is the lake water feels almost warm. Another one of those relative things. Sixty degree water, forty degree air.
My feet have always appreciated the feel of the earth. Soil, sand, duff, rock. Like them all but am partial to soil 'specially when it's packed and bare. Low ground cover's okay so long as it doesn't wet my footgear. Trail's like the one I'm meandering are treasures made by hand and foot with a little help from steel. Pretty basic stuff for a pretty basic use, walking from here to there just 'cause you feel like walking.
And I do feel like walking. When I set off from the cabin the idea was twenty miles a day. Less than a mile up the McFarland Road I realized there was no need. I'd walk 'til I felt like resting. Shoulder the pack when ready. Fifteen, sixteen miles a day's plenty. To this point 'bout the only change I'd make is having a slab of cherry pie waiting for me when I make camp.
Mine's a simple life, here and back at home. Missed the moon landing but so did a lot of soldiers in Vietnam. Guess I had good company. I won't say landing on the moon's not important just that it didn't matter much to me one way or the other. Probably didn't to a platoon in a fire fight either. Not saying it didn't matter at all just that there's better ways to direct our efforts. Don't know if I'm getting my point across or even if I have a point. But it strikes me as odd that we can find a way to get to the moon but can't when it comes to ending a war.
While I'm at it, I've learned to shy away from any 'isms'. No Communism, Socialism, Capitalism, Buddhism, Islam(ism), Judaism, Christianity(ism), any of 'em. Yeah, they all have their good points. That's why they exist. But they also have their bad points. Points where they won't bend. Our way or the highway. You know, when push comes to shove it's all about people and the planet. Work together, share and don't foul the nest. We're here 'cause the world's the way it is. We'll remain here so long as we don't mess it up too much. Time for me to climb down from the pulpit. Once in a while the pressures start to take over and I have to spit 'em out. Here on the trail with no one in sight's as good a place as any.
Yeah, I work things out while on my feet. The grumbles that arise irritate me for a reason. The ones that keep coming back are those I haven't worked my way through. Most of them I probably never will. Questions without answers floating around like black flies in a bad spring. They're there for a reason. No doubt about it. Maybe nothing more than to spawn more black flies. And it's not only me they're out to suck blood from. Could be all a man can do is accept that they're there, button up his shirt and move on (good luck with that Emil).
Began the day's hike rising from camp to regain the trail on the high ground above. Still overcast but the clouds didn't stop a few old tunes from dancing through my head. A few moments later they were drifting on the air. 'Me and My Shadow.' Not sure why. No shadows that I could see. Came to a little stream my map said was draining Mucker Lake. Could be they misspelled the name. Beside me hung a blue ribbon. Five yards away, across the stream, hung another. Must be trying to tell me something. Gave it some thought, pulled my shoes and socks, rolled my cuffs and eased my way across. It was my foulmouthed toes in the icy flow that told me of the possible misspell. Oh well, better wet feet than wet shoes.
Took a morning break on a south facing slab of basalt jutting into Topper Lake. Those slabs give me a feeling of ground zero. Bedrock of the world exposed naked to the day. On the smoothed black, glacier carvings dragging southwest to northeast told of another age. I ran my finger along one of the scratches. Partly to even a jagged nail, partly to increase the imprint just a tad. Yup, me and the glaciers, changing the continent a little at a time. A loam filled crack interrupted the drag marks. In it a miniature lawn, a dandelion and a cedar seedling. Hit me this might be the very place the world splits in two as the tree's roots slowly cleave the planet from pole to pole. Almost made me trot back toward the cabin so I could be at home when it happened. Save me from being numbered among the homeless.
A break in the clouds exposed the blue above and for a few minutes I sat in sunshine. Then laid in sunshine. My thoughts traveled back to our camp on the unnamed lake. Me and Archie spent quite a few hours on that slab. Ate, slept, read, talked, built a cairn and nearly died. Odd that what once spewed from volcanoes could come to feel welcoming. Probably nothing like this in the rice paddies of the Mekong Delta. 'Spose there's more I could say about that but I won't. Arose, shouldered my pack and moved on.
According to the map my view of the border lakes was done for a while as the trail'd strike a bee line toward Gunflint Lake. Gunflint's about the center point of the trail by the same name. Never been there before and never expected my first visit to be on foot. There's a lodge on the south shore of some fame run by the Kerfoot family. Ran into Justine a time or two in Grand Marais. She's easy to spot. Not many women dress like forest rangers. Our conversation was never more than a howdy. She was usually in town on business 'bout the same as me only her business was much more than buying bananas and coffee. Even was County Commissioner in '68. To this point I hadn't given a thought to anything beyond hiking the trail but began to consider the possibility of a lodge breakfast in the morning. The temptation lasted no more than twenty yards. I knew I wouldn't. Didn't feel the need for a break from what I'm doing. There's a comfort and ease to solitude. Feels right, feels good. Nothing between me and … God? Kind of embarrassing and uppity to say it that way but can't think of a way to say it better. I'll let you be the judge. Me? I'll put one foot in front of the other. Just another moving part of the woods.
Took my lunch below the trail alongside Bridal Vail Falls. Don't know how these things form. Above the falls the stream is a narrow, rushing sluice. Then the wash smashes into a boulder field, gets busted up, tumbles head over heals to the edge of a fifteen foot high cliff and pulverizes into a thin, wide curtain of wall hugging, mist and water. Bet the stream never saw that coming. One moment heading full bore downhill laughing and having a fine time, then, bam!, all bruised up, screaming in terror, tumbling to its death over a billion year year old escarpment of volcanic rock. Knocked senseless. Then, voila!, gets reborn below and rejoining up with its buddies on their merry way to the lake. No, that's not what I was thinking while eating. Then it was more like, "Damn. Almost out of dark chocolate. Should I do this again I'll pack an extra pound." A man has to work at being profound, enjoying chocolate just comes natural.
The afternoon was another set of majestic overlooks. So much beauty was becoming tedious, a burden and downright exhausting. Rubbed my steadfast Germanic soul raw. Decided atop a perch hundreds of feet above the lake with views to the horizon in a hundred directions, to trim my toenails that evening even if they didn't need it. Even more so if they didn't. Didn't care how they felt, I simply had to have a strong dose of the mundane. Bring me down to earth. Spent the remainder of the afternoon on my way to camp alongside Birch Lake contemplating oatmeal.
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