Wasn't long before I passed the lodge. Part of me was drawn to it. Moth to flame, needle to north, crows tire flattened skunk. Passed on the notion and an early lunch. Heard the food was extra special. Maybe even better than eating LRRP rations with a big spoon. Wasn't as yet hungry and not conversation starved enough to drop in.
Already mentioned I appreciate the quiet of my own company. Might be the result of being among the tens of millions who went to war. A man gets used to withdrawing from the scene around him when in combat. Other places he'd rather be. Other people he'd rather be with. I know, I know, me and the men around me were like brothers. Not brothers exactly, only like brothers. Didn't come from the same woman, live in the same house, learn from the same old man. No two ways about it I'd have much rather been home sharing a few beers with my real brothers.
Strikes me and no doubt has struck you I'm a conflicted man, contrary in his ways. Says one thing, too often does another. Call it a human condition. A few years back me and Lena used to make an annual pilgrimage to the state fair down in the cities. She loved the glitz of the scene. I was smart enough to say I did also. The food on a stick, crafts, barns, farmers kicking tractor tires and the excitement of the crowds. I have to admit I liked the food. Mostly the foot long hotdogs - weren't quite a foot long, I figured them at a size 7 1/2 - smothered in browned onions with a thin stripe of yellow mustard. Even liked the crafts. Oddly enough the quilts on display drew me the most. Canvas' of colored patterns, some designs going back centuries, with many hours of handwork and thought behind each. Couldn't see much sense in the baked goods. What good's a strawberry rhubarb pie when a sheet of plate glass stands in the way. My, ain't that pretty, where's my fork?
But the crowds? Best I can say is I survived them. Always have felt more at home with at most a few people. Those I shared blood with, those I worked beside in the open air. Nothing like working up a sweat to bring people together. A hundred thousand people spread over a few acres would never have been on my list of places to be had it not been for Lena. Not that I'm complaining. Any experience can have its pleasures when you're with someone you love. Gave the lodge a glance and a smile. Moved on.
Set my compass to one of the border land's oddities, Magnetic Rock. Nearby hung my resupply cooler. One place or the other, I'd take my lunch. Never seen the rock before but'd heard of it. Been told it was magnetic. Could be the reason for the name. I believed the namers were telling the truth and felt no need to pull the compass out of my pocket. Also had the thought if every other rock in the world had been named The Non-Magnetic Rock, the one I was approaching could have gone unnamed. Given the choice I suppose naming just this one was more efficient. Once I saw the beast I figured it poorly named. Magnetic be damned. What I stood before, gape-jawed, was as tall as the surrounding pines. Black and jagged monolith, it looked like it'd been shot down from outer space and plugged deep in the earth. Maybe an errant spearhead from an interstellar war among spaceship flying cavemen. Last year I'd seen the movie "2001: A Space Odyssey." Magnetic Rock made me want to cuddle up and stroke it like one of my long lost ancestors from the movie and beg to be transported to the far side of the universe. Or at least be given the answers to all of the questions from the beginning of time. Or maybe a new toothbrush as mine was getting a little ragged around the edges. After a minute of awe I made a sign of the cross, bowed from the waist and genuflected twice before slowly backing away. No way was I going to turn my back on that beast. Lunch would be at my resupply. This place was way too spooky for my blood.
I'd given forethought to where I'd hung the cooler. Green metal box draped by a rope from the widespread limb of a white pine would be sure to attract attention. Might be a good half dozen wanderers strolling this path during any given month. Yeah, a regular plethora of possible cooler thieves. Hoped to keep it from all those prying eyes but not from mine. Don't have the eye of an osprey any more. Doubt I ever did even when there was a pair. Hung the cooler a hard to see hundred yards off the trail. Built a small cairn to mark the spot and a blaze on a mountain maple ten yards inward to give me direction. Worse came to worst and I found that a bear had eaten my stash cooler, rope and all, I could always hitch hike down the Gunflint Trail and work my way home.
Turned out I worried needlessly. Peeled off and spread my wet rain gear and tarp to dry while I ate lunch beside the trail. Blessed relief to let my body breathe once again. 'Bout my only regret to this point was not being strong enough to carry more water. Figured as much before I set off. Six days of freeze dry, snacks and underclothes left enough room in the cooler for two bottles of RC Cola. Big ones, sixteen ouncers. Would've added baked goods had I felt they'd have kept. Popped the cap with my pocket knife and polished off one of the bottles with lunch. The other'd have to bide its time 'til I returned in eighty miles or so. Did the same at the west end of the Kekekabic Trail. Sat and used the cooler as a stool and snacked away. Not a scenic spot like most of my lunch breaks. Didn't matter. Panorama goes unappreciated while wolfing down lunch and napping when done. Enough to see at my feet. Stones, dirt, grasses, an ant or two working the larder of my crumbs, a stand of the little club mosses they call fairy pines, bunch berries sporting full red fruit, tell-tale leaves of trillium saying this'd be a fine spot to sit come spring and take in the show of pink-white blossoms. Yeah, a veritable garden in miniature drifting downslope to a patch of bog.
Once up and moving, the trail led me to the Gunflint Trail (sometimes I wasn't sure which of us was moving, me west or the trail east. I knew one of us was. Beyond that I didn't care). Hung a left and kept an eye open for the metal stake and sign that'd mark my exit. The carefully graded road and lack of roots to trip over spoke of civilization. Good to see if only for a few minutes. As did the forestry truck heading north trailing a plume of dust. A raised index finger from the driver told me all was right with the world. Figured my pack told him I'd been out of touch with the six o'clock news. Might even have stopped to let me know if the world had been nuked out of existence while I was meandering the wilderness. Found the post, passed between a pair of maples in full fall golds and scarlets, breathed a sigh of relief and once again was off to see the wizard wherever he might be.
My map marked the campsite alongside Gabimichigami Lake I hoped to make by late afternoon. Dressed in fresh socks and dry shoes my feet sang a happy song. First half mile of trail was well trod. Once again bordered here and there by tape and cairns. Guess I wasn't the first to get the cairn idea or could it be the forest was festooned with Coleman coolers filled with goodies for me to raid if needed? What'd be the odds on there being more fools like me in the north country? Hadn't seen any to this point. Possibly they were there in hiding much like the 'man who wasn't there' up on Wedge Lake in Manitoba was (or wasn't). I've yet to see him but that doesn't mean he's not there. Call me woods crazy.
Thoughts like the one above strike me all the time when my mind's as free to wander as my feet. Images, possibilities, idiocy often stroll through my consciousness looking for a stool to rest on. More often than not they float beneath the surface like a school of bait fish. Don't know they're there unless I peek below. Plunge my head, look around 'til my lungs give out. Need a glassed out lake for that. Not something to do when the wind's up. Sometimes the little fish're driven up by the bigger ones rising from the depths to feed. Doesn't take a genius to see bait fish when they're roiling the glassed surface in fear. Time then to ignore the little buggers and cast to the feeders below. Maybe latch onto and enjoy the colors of a keeper. I call them keepers but release each and every one. Not that they're completely gone, once seen truth leaves a shadow in my memory. Something like my moments along the overlooks. There to bend the course of my life just a little. Should I live another century or two I might even be moving in the right direction. For the moment I'll satisfy myself with passing the next cairn.
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