Today I'll travel with wet gear strapped to the outside of the pack. Better there than soaking my sleeping bag and dirty clothes. Carrying wet and festering drawers on my back held no appeal whatsoever. 'Til hiking time I passed my minutes with my beloved oatmeal and coffee. Had better than a half pot left from last night. First steam of the morning rose from the chilled aluminum. Fogged metal cleared as the coffee warmed. Second steam told me the brew was ready to sip while waiting on the water for the cereal. Damnation both went down good. Caffein and sugar does wonders for my spirit. Better than loaves and fishes. As did a trip uphill to the latrine. The stomach taketh and the lower intestinal tract giveth. Floated on the wings of angels on my return.
Finally sloshed my way onto the trail a good three minutes later than usual and headed west toward my resupply under scudding clouds. Don't exactly know what scudding means but I've read those words concerning cloud movement many times and at my age am past caring enough to look it up. Might be related to Dizzy Dean's Saturday game-of-the-week baseball comment that a runner had slud into second base. That'd make scud the same as skid and'd work just fine for the fast moving clouds passing overhead.
The breeze kicked up with the rise of the hidden sun. Didn't matter that the rain had stopped as each passing gust showered me from the branches above. Crisp morning of clouded breath. Wouldn't be long before a rain such as this morning's fell as snow. Hopefully it'd wait 'til I could fire up the wood stove. Not something I could count on. Each of this morning's inhales carried tales of the frigid far north. Manitoba and Saskatchewan. I'm partial to the first province though I've never been to the latter.
Finally sloshed my way onto the trail a good three minutes later than usual and headed west toward my resupply under scudding clouds. Don't exactly know what scudding means but I've read those words concerning cloud movement many times and at my age am past caring enough to look it up. Might be related to Dizzy Dean's Saturday game-of-the-week baseball comment that a runner had slud into second base. That'd make scud the same as skid and'd work just fine for the fast moving clouds passing overhead.
The breeze kicked up with the rise of the hidden sun. Didn't matter that the rain had stopped as each passing gust showered me from the branches above. Crisp morning of clouded breath. Wouldn't be long before a rain such as this morning's fell as snow. Hopefully it'd wait 'til I could fire up the wood stove. Not something I could count on. Each of this morning's inhales carried tales of the frigid far north. Manitoba and Saskatchewan. I'm partial to the first province though I've never been to the latter.
By camp this afternoon I figured to be five miles down the Kekekabic Trail. Some call it the Kek. Maybe want to sound in the know. I like the full name exactly as it stands. Hard striking poetry. Also sounds more a part of it's ancient surroundings even though the trail's a recent creation. At least that's what I've been told. Who knows? Could be the people who lived here before the French arrived to trap the beaver left the canoe at home once in a while and walked to the grocery store. Maybe on the Kekekabic Trail to the Three K's Store. Wonder what name they'd have given the path? If any at all. Can't say I've been looking forward to hiking its miles. Don't know why. Some things simply appeal more to me than others and for no explainable reason.
Once again I passed beside a series of overlooks. Down below, Gunflint Lake. Some of the outcrops would have offered spectacular views had I been gutsy enough to walk out on the wet moss and lichen covered stone points. Contented myself with a few partial glimpses to the lake, Canada and treetops hundreds of feet below. To the west, a break in the clouds. Come lunch I figured to ditch the rain gear. Chilly though the air was, non-scudding rainclouds were forming under my jacket.
Sounds like I was having a fine time but "Me and My Shadow" was still haunting my steps. Mostly I'm content being alone but today I'd've enjoyed company if only for a few minutes. Lena's more than any other. Including the days of our courting, the two of us were together thirty years. Enough time to think alike and act as one even if we were different in many ways. Still carry her picture in my wallet and have all the letters I wrote her when I was in the war. She kept them all. Now I do. They're up in the lookout tied with a light blue ribbon. 'Spose I don't need the ribbon but like the paper, it'd passed through her hands. Carries value to me. Not quite three dozen of them and not a one says much about the war. Not really love letters though the subject does come up. When I re-read them they give me a feeling of sitting at the kitchen table speaking of how our days had passed and our intentions for the future. 'Course the letters were pretty one-sided. Don't know what happened to the ones she sent me. Kept them 'til the day I was wounded then never saw them again. Another casualty of the war.
So here I walk, me and my shadow and my thoughts of the past. Could be worse. This mood of melancholy will pass. Won't go away exactly but will leave me alone for a while. Can't be up all the time nor down. As for my peaks and valleys they're a lot like the ones peeking at me through the trees. Not Rocky Mountain or Grand Canyon spectacular but pretty nice all the same. Ones I can live with.
Once again I passed beside a series of overlooks. Down below, Gunflint Lake. Some of the outcrops would have offered spectacular views had I been gutsy enough to walk out on the wet moss and lichen covered stone points. Contented myself with a few partial glimpses to the lake, Canada and treetops hundreds of feet below. To the west, a break in the clouds. Come lunch I figured to ditch the rain gear. Chilly though the air was, non-scudding rainclouds were forming under my jacket.
Sounds like I was having a fine time but "Me and My Shadow" was still haunting my steps. Mostly I'm content being alone but today I'd've enjoyed company if only for a few minutes. Lena's more than any other. Including the days of our courting, the two of us were together thirty years. Enough time to think alike and act as one even if we were different in many ways. Still carry her picture in my wallet and have all the letters I wrote her when I was in the war. She kept them all. Now I do. They're up in the lookout tied with a light blue ribbon. 'Spose I don't need the ribbon but like the paper, it'd passed through her hands. Carries value to me. Not quite three dozen of them and not a one says much about the war. Not really love letters though the subject does come up. When I re-read them they give me a feeling of sitting at the kitchen table speaking of how our days had passed and our intentions for the future. 'Course the letters were pretty one-sided. Don't know what happened to the ones she sent me. Kept them 'til the day I was wounded then never saw them again. Another casualty of the war.
So here I walk, me and my shadow and my thoughts of the past. Could be worse. This mood of melancholy will pass. Won't go away exactly but will leave me alone for a while. Can't be up all the time nor down. As for my peaks and valleys they're a lot like the ones peeking at me through the trees. Not Rocky Mountain or Grand Canyon spectacular but pretty nice all the same. Ones I can live with.
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