Wednesday, April 30, 2014
One Day to Go
Tomorrow I begin a re-read of the Markie and Emil story. Give it some thought then start a re-write. Guess tomorrow is the start of re- time. I'm hoping for a beginning, middle and an end. Some humor, a dash of meaning and insight. With luck, something of a new angle or two. Mostly I'm hoping for a good time sweating it through to a finished product.
Thursday, April 17, 2014
Emil Spouts Off
The two of us were walking down a township road. Sand and gravel between muddy, plowed and unplanted fields. Last year's brown grasses, cat tails and burdock in the ditches. We were talking about nothing of importance when I brought up the story I had written about an adventure from many years in the past. Had Emil read it?
"Of course I have. Hard not to seein' as how I was peekin' over your shoulder the whole time. Now and then I'd throw in an idea or two. Most of 'em you didn't hear. Guess you were too wrapped up in what you thought was important. Had you listened up you'd have written a much better story. No doubt about that. And sometimes you were just too damned dull. Cut and dried as Sister Eleanor Marie used to say. You've got more in you than that. Relax. Let it flow. And, damn it, listen to me more than once in a while."
He went on, "Some of me you got right. But not all. Hell, let me rant a bit. I was human wasn't I?"
"No Uncle Emil, you never were. Maybe I made you up, maybe not. But you never toted flesh on your bones."
"So, mister high and mighty, just 'cause you can fart and it stinks doesn't mean you're better than me. Maybe if your fingers had fleshed me out a tad more in the story I wrote with your hands you'd think differently. The idea is to dig deeper, flesh me out. Do the same for yourself. And move the year to 1961. That's a good number and it'd make you fourteen. No way a twelve year old city kid could tote a forty pound pack through a mile and a half of blowdown then go back for a second."
"Also figure out a way to make me grow up without a father without killin' him off. That way you and me could relate on another level. You see, the general story you've got has been told a thousand times. Ain't nothin' new so you've gotta make it personal. And, before I forget, come up with a coupla tales to spark the humor. Maybe gallows humor like the Winnie the Pooh thing. Now that was funny. Last of all, wait out the month. You set yourself a goal, stick to it."
As usual I didn't have much to say in response. Emil was right. Pissed me off a little but that was my problem. Over in the fields a flock of starlings did a couple of zig-zags then settled in an unplowed wetland.
"By the way, leave me alone till you're ready to start it up again."
"No Uncle Emil, you never were. Maybe I made you up, maybe not. But you never toted flesh on your bones."
"So, mister high and mighty, just 'cause you can fart and it stinks doesn't mean you're better than me. Maybe if your fingers had fleshed me out a tad more in the story I wrote with your hands you'd think differently. The idea is to dig deeper, flesh me out. Do the same for yourself. And move the year to 1961. That's a good number and it'd make you fourteen. No way a twelve year old city kid could tote a forty pound pack through a mile and a half of blowdown then go back for a second."
"Also figure out a way to make me grow up without a father without killin' him off. That way you and me could relate on another level. You see, the general story you've got has been told a thousand times. Ain't nothin' new so you've gotta make it personal. And, before I forget, come up with a coupla tales to spark the humor. Maybe gallows humor like the Winnie the Pooh thing. Now that was funny. Last of all, wait out the month. You set yourself a goal, stick to it."
As usual I didn't have much to say in response. Emil was right. Pissed me off a little but that was my problem. Over in the fields a flock of starlings did a couple of zig-zags then settled in an unplowed wetland.
"By the way, leave me alone till you're ready to start it up again."
Monday, March 31, 2014
Quo Vadis?
I don't know what's next. Didn't know where the story of Emil and Archie was going till they told me. Don't know what to do with it now that it's over. I'll probably go back to the beginning, do some adding and some chopping. Maybe let it rest for a few days. We're heading north tomorrow, our time in the Southland is at an end for the year. That our time in Alabama and this story ended at the same time wasn't intentional. Not completely anyhow. Truthfully I'd like the Emil and Archie show to go on till I turn up daisies. It was a great time. Almost as good as being there.
Canada XLVIII - Departure
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.
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.
Saturday, March 29, 2014
Canada XLVII - Shore Fishing
Emil wasn't kidding about our evening. Fine with me. I made supper while he set up the tent. Man was I tired. Took all I had to fry up some Spam to go with a pack of hard tack my uncle had saved for a time like this. It ate dry even with the Spam on top but we'd filled our canteens on the way over. Skin and bones meal for sure but Uncle Emil also turned up a few more dried apricots. Good man. We ate in silent exhaustion.
Took a lot of gumption to get in the water for a swim. All I wanted was sleep and the water was still near ice. Not a happy combination. But it felt good to get somewhat clean. Even better to crawl into the bag. Long, long day.
Morning brought us a day of rest. With a little fishing on the side. While I pitched spinners from the island slab Emil pulled out Of Mice and Men. Also finished it that evening. I sucked back tears at the end. Emil's cracking voice said he felt the same. It was that kind of story. Also got us talking about what it meant to be a man. I'd have thrown in my two cents worth had I any change. Heck, I didn't hardly know what it was to be a kid.
"That's okay Archie me lad. If you're like me you'll be trying to figure it out 'til the day you die. About the only time I thought I had the answer was back in my twenties. Then sometime during the war the doubts snuck in. Began to think I'd wasted most of my life. It was time to sort it out. And I mostly did. Kept the parts I liked. Dumped the rest. Of course, you may be entirely different. But I wouldn't count on it. We're all pretty much alike. It takes some living to learn you're not God's gift to mankind. Took me quite a while."
That night we paddled out and fished the two closest bays. They're not big but have to be fished slow because of all the action. The shore had changed since the week before. A dozen or more pines, spruce and birch trees were now laid to rest, straddling shore and water. Many, many northerns found new homes in the trees. In the outer branches small pike perched like water hawks in hope something might come swimming by. Deeper, near the trunk, lay the big ones. Giving a tree a paddle whack invariably provoked a monster sized thrash within. More fun whacking than diddling with the outlying hammer handles. Emil called it messing with the monsters.
I caught the biggest pike of the trip that afternoon. Lost it also. We got a glimpse and Emil said it was a thirty pounder for sure. At first I thought he might be stretching his estimate a bit. Most older guys would. But my uncle wasn't the kind to fudge on a measurement of any kind.
"Thirty's the way I see it. Should someday your remembrance grow to forty pounds, I don't want to be the one who got you started on being a fishin' liar. There's enough of them around gassing their lives away in bars and standing in clusters, one hand in pocket, on fishing docks. In the other hand a beer and, of course, a belly to match. All the while remembering what fine specimens of manhood they once were. And all their deeds of legerdemain."
"It'd be one thing if what they remembered had actually happened. Yup, we all like to color our memories some. Hard not to. But the truth is the truth. See your life as it is. Remember what worked for you and what didn't. Learn from your past and let it guide your future. Most of all, be the man you were meant to be."
Those words came back to me twenty years later. My life on the inside was getting a little ragged and probably would have gone downhill from there. But it didn't. Wasn't easy breaking the fetters of illusion and learning to see the truth of my life. In fact, I'm still working on it.
My fondest memory of the trip was Emil reading aloud. Don't know if anyone does it any more. Except me. Decades later when my son and I were off on our wilderness trips, the stories we read were as much a part of them as paddling or fishing. Emil didn't have a deep, resonant, baritone voice like a James Earl Jones. No, his was a midwestern, nasal twang with a twist of Minnesota German/Swede that refused to go into hiding. When he set to emphasizing a point he could 'yah sure, you betcha' with the best of them.
His soft accent was there when Emil read aloud but not when he did a voice like Lennie's from Of Mice and Men or Long John's in Treasure Island. His take on a character's voice wasn't dead on but if you relaxed your expectations a little, Emil's voice would carry you deep into the story. Let you hear and feel the author's intent. At least that's what happened to me as the two of us sat on our slab in the bush, twenty miles from nowhere. That night I made our last pan of fry bread to the words of John Steinbeck.
Before we turned in Emil said, "You know what tomorrow's gonna be like, don't you? Think back on yesterday. Like that, only not so long. But we'll do her Archie. Home stretch don't ya know." Followed with a chuckle and a soft elbow to my ribs.
Took a lot of gumption to get in the water for a swim. All I wanted was sleep and the water was still near ice. Not a happy combination. But it felt good to get somewhat clean. Even better to crawl into the bag. Long, long day.
Morning brought us a day of rest. With a little fishing on the side. While I pitched spinners from the island slab Emil pulled out Of Mice and Men. Also finished it that evening. I sucked back tears at the end. Emil's cracking voice said he felt the same. It was that kind of story. Also got us talking about what it meant to be a man. I'd have thrown in my two cents worth had I any change. Heck, I didn't hardly know what it was to be a kid.
"That's okay Archie me lad. If you're like me you'll be trying to figure it out 'til the day you die. About the only time I thought I had the answer was back in my twenties. Then sometime during the war the doubts snuck in. Began to think I'd wasted most of my life. It was time to sort it out. And I mostly did. Kept the parts I liked. Dumped the rest. Of course, you may be entirely different. But I wouldn't count on it. We're all pretty much alike. It takes some living to learn you're not God's gift to mankind. Took me quite a while."
That night we paddled out and fished the two closest bays. They're not big but have to be fished slow because of all the action. The shore had changed since the week before. A dozen or more pines, spruce and birch trees were now laid to rest, straddling shore and water. Many, many northerns found new homes in the trees. In the outer branches small pike perched like water hawks in hope something might come swimming by. Deeper, near the trunk, lay the big ones. Giving a tree a paddle whack invariably provoked a monster sized thrash within. More fun whacking than diddling with the outlying hammer handles. Emil called it messing with the monsters.
I caught the biggest pike of the trip that afternoon. Lost it also. We got a glimpse and Emil said it was a thirty pounder for sure. At first I thought he might be stretching his estimate a bit. Most older guys would. But my uncle wasn't the kind to fudge on a measurement of any kind.
"Thirty's the way I see it. Should someday your remembrance grow to forty pounds, I don't want to be the one who got you started on being a fishin' liar. There's enough of them around gassing their lives away in bars and standing in clusters, one hand in pocket, on fishing docks. In the other hand a beer and, of course, a belly to match. All the while remembering what fine specimens of manhood they once were. And all their deeds of legerdemain."
"It'd be one thing if what they remembered had actually happened. Yup, we all like to color our memories some. Hard not to. But the truth is the truth. See your life as it is. Remember what worked for you and what didn't. Learn from your past and let it guide your future. Most of all, be the man you were meant to be."
Those words came back to me twenty years later. My life on the inside was getting a little ragged and probably would have gone downhill from there. But it didn't. Wasn't easy breaking the fetters of illusion and learning to see the truth of my life. In fact, I'm still working on it.
My fondest memory of the trip was Emil reading aloud. Don't know if anyone does it any more. Except me. Decades later when my son and I were off on our wilderness trips, the stories we read were as much a part of them as paddling or fishing. Emil didn't have a deep, resonant, baritone voice like a James Earl Jones. No, his was a midwestern, nasal twang with a twist of Minnesota German/Swede that refused to go into hiding. When he set to emphasizing a point he could 'yah sure, you betcha' with the best of them.
His soft accent was there when Emil read aloud but not when he did a voice like Lennie's from Of Mice and Men or Long John's in Treasure Island. His take on a character's voice wasn't dead on but if you relaxed your expectations a little, Emil's voice would carry you deep into the story. Let you hear and feel the author's intent. At least that's what happened to me as the two of us sat on our slab in the bush, twenty miles from nowhere. That night I made our last pan of fry bread to the words of John Steinbeck.
Before we turned in Emil said, "You know what tomorrow's gonna be like, don't you? Think back on yesterday. Like that, only not so long. But we'll do her Archie. Home stretch don't ya know." Followed with a chuckle and a soft elbow to my ribs.
Wednesday, March 26, 2014
Canada XLVI - The Hump
Emil made breakfast before we hit the sack to save time. Would have saved even more time had we also eaten it as a bedtime snack. But my uncle figured that wouldn't make much sense as we'd just be hungry again come morning.
"Archie me lad, we'll skin this cat a different way. Gather some wood and I'll get a fire going. When she burns to coals we'll bake us some bread and I'll smoke up whatever you can catch from shore."
We heaped the wood high and fired up a blaze they could have seen down in Cranberry Portage. Made me want to strip to skivvies, slash muddied stripes across my face and dance around the ring 'til I sweated myself clean. Instead I hit the beach with the burden of bobber fishing for my breakfast. Emil rummaged through the tarp and started packing for morning.
Half dozen walleyes and a pair of jumbo perch in twenty minutes. Not bad. "Enough to make us a little supper Archie and smoke what's left. Two birds, eh?"
For the first time I made the dough ball for pan bread, added a joy of sweet stuff and propped it to brown. Emil did up a small pot of dried apricots and floated a couple of seasoned fillets in a frying pan of foamed butter. Smelled like home. Now there's an odd thought. Twenty-five miles into the bush and it smelled like home.
While we ate, Uncle Emil banked the coals, salted the fillets and laid them tenderly on the edges of the grill to slowly soak up some heat. "Umm-umm, she'll be some good eatin' in the morning. Should be enough left for a little snack or two on the trail."
"Any idea how long it'll take to reach Wedge?"
Emil looked at the ground, raised his eyes to the woods behind us, looked to the sky, tested the wind with a wetted finger, held a raised thumb like a plumb bob and began to write out a few calculations in the air. Paused, stroked his chin,
"Call it five hours, twelve minutes and thirty-seven seconds, give or take. Archie me lad, your guess is as good as mine. Our way in from Wedge was pathless. So is our way out. Only this time our pathless path will be a bit longer and a little more seat of the pants. Who knows how many of our markers are still be standing? And if we'd be able to follow them anyway."
Not much left to do but sit on the preservers and once again be absorbed by the growing dark. Took a while and never did quite make it. Didn't matter to us. It's hard to get bored in the bush. Too much going on all the time. Pillars of midges rose to the sky between the few scrubby jack pines left surrounding our site. Thousands of tiny feeding rings slowly spread shore to shore on the mirror in front of us. Couldn't see the sun go down but I guess it did. The pelicans returned and flotilla-ed by, giving us nary a look. What did they care? We'd be gone in the morning and hadn't put a dent in their larder. Soon they'd again be lords and ladies of the lake.
"Dark enough. Time to turn in. I'll bank the coals, give the fillets another turn and leave them to the night. Tomorrow will be a day we'll not soon forget. Best way to approach it is after a good night's sleep and with a full belly."
Sleep took its time. Felt like Christmas Eve. Yeah, I was excited. Way excited about what was coming. And scared. Not like we were going to die scared. Scared like we were in for a lot of work. Painful work. Climbing over and under kind of work. Must have tossed and turned a good three minutes fretting about the morning.
You see, sleep was my friend. Nothing at night or waiting in the morning was so momentous it ruined a good night's sack time. Years later, in Vietnam, I also slept like a baby. B-52 strike, monsoon downpour, highway for a mattress, rice paddy floor, tree line, didn't matter where I made my bed, my eyes would close and I'd drift off to another world. 'Specially when misery was in the offing. Whether or not unhappiness was waiting back in the Manitoba woods was yet to be seen. Probably was. But nerves or not, this boy conked right out.
I awoke to find myself alone. I'd have laid there wondering where Uncle Emil had disappeared but my bladder told me to go out and find him.
'Uncle Emil, you might wanna come back here and take a look."
I'd stepped aways into the woods to take a leak and finally had a good look at what the storm'd done. The few trees that had dropped around our site didn't do the damage justice.
"Could it be you mean all the jackstrawed timber between here and Wedge? I gave it a look-see yesterday. Even walked went back a few yards to check it out. Didn't want to say anything 'til we had to wade in and have us some fun. Couldn't see the point in talking about it. But I did give what was coming some thought. It'll be a bugger for sure. Probably demand twice what the carry in did. But we'll do her and when it's over, be glad we did."
Before sitting down to eat we paddled out on the lake.
"Last chance on the water Uncle Emil?"
"That and filling up the water jug and canteens. We'll sweat up a storm on the bushwhack. May as well drink all we can hold before setting out and carry a gallon with us."
Took our time with breakfast. Why not? Five minutes more or less wouldn't make much difference in our day. While we ate I happened to notice my uncle had a new eye, a pine tree inserted sideways. Guess that said it all. By nine we were off.
What can you say about misery? Kind of goes like this: At first it's a challenge, almost easy 'cause it's new. Hoist a pack, carry it 'til it hurts, set it down and go back for another. Next, it gets tougher, hurts sooner and you think you can't do it. Finally, you get used to the pain, accept that it won't get any better, won't kill you and just keep plodding on. You get lost in thought but pay close attention when working your way over or though a pile of splintered timber.
The good news was no more than half of the forest had been blown flat. That was also the bad news. Some twisted and torn trunks had reached the ground and laid there like a thousand weather vanes pointing down wind. Those trees you could straddle over or if too high, crawl under. Some had ricocheted off other trunks on the way down and crisscrossed with others on the ground. Jackstrawed was what Emil called them. I'd go around the piles if possible. Only had to go over one and it wasn't very big. Some had tipped and hung up in the branches of other, still standing trees. He called them widow makers. Those I usually scurried under, hunched and braced should one fall. Not sure what I was preparing for. If one fell I'd have driven into the ground like a tent peg by a pile driver.
"Never know when they'll come down. Should you be standing under one when it does, that's all she wrote. Send a letter to your wife, she'd be the widow, the tree the maker, letting her know her what a great guy you'd been 'til you went and did something stupid."
We did the carry in stages, a lot more stages than the trip in. Emil still had enough ribbon to mark our gear piles where we'd set them down. Made them easier to find when we returned. Retrieved them as we passed on so as not to run out. Again it was a compass guided course with as much allowance for swamp as possible.
Our three planned rests stretched to eight, each a pipe, snack and conversation break.
"Archie me lad, this sure is something. Probably feel better if I wasn't smoking. Probably also feel better if I was twenty years younger. You know what? If I'd have known this was in the cards before we set off, we'd've still done her. So long as neither of us gets hurt and if we keep our wits about us neither of us will, going through what we're going through makes it that much sweeter. The only thing I'd change is to have a cold beer right now. And maybe a coke for you. But first a beer for me. A LaBatts fresh out of a tub of ice. Sounds sooo good."
Our signal to go was always a "saddle up" followed by a grunt of rising from Emil. We'd reload and go at it again.
The biggest bugger was the canoe. Emil'd move it solo when possible. More often than not it'd be the two of us, one at each end, hoisting it over or dragging it under the toppled trees. A slow, sweating, grunting carry.
Break four had me lusting for the coke Uncle Emil had mentioned back on stop two.
"Twenty-five ouncer in the big glass bottle. I'd drain it straight. And lick up the foam that'd come pouring out my ears. And maybe four cheeseburgers just like the ones from The Clock Drive-in over on Broadway. Line 'em up and knock 'em down. Wash 'em down with another big coke. I've done nothing but think about that combination for the last hour. When we get out can we see if the Canadians down in The Pas can fry up some burgers?"
"Didn't we already do that? And don't you remember what the burger was like?"
"I don't care. And maybe they've gotten better since we were there. If not, I'll go for the gravy next time."
So it went. Hour after hour. A city block in we were already mud spattered and pitch covered. And it kept layering on with every straddle, crawl and climb. My hands, clothes and packs were thick with pine tar and sap. Smelled like turpentine mixed with honey. Needles and bits of bark stuck to the pitch. As my sweat began to flow I'd wipe my face with a sleeve or back of hand. More pitch, more bark, more needles. Halfway through I looked like I'd been tarred and feathered. Tar baby from the Uncle Remus stories was what Emil said.
Uncle Emil was no better. On break five we just pointed at each other and laughed. Food tasted like pine as did the smell of Emil's pipe tobacco. Seemed he'd dropped his pipe a couple of times and it too had started to coat up. Yeah, we were a sight to behold.
By the time we reached Wedge we were moving not much faster than the glaciers that had passed through a few thousand years earlier. We'd finished every morsel of food in the day pack - had to drink the molten Hershey bars - drained all the water and hurt everywhere. I swear, even my hair hurt.
"We'll take a short break, then load and hit the water. Maybe drink up the entire lake on the way to camp. Of course once the lake's dry we'd be back to portaging so be careful with your intake. First order in camp will be to eat. Then set up the tent. Take a swim. Go to bed. That's it. Don't know about you but I'll be a paddling dead man."
Being back on the water beat the pants off going through the woods. Of course so would being dragged down a gravel road behind a speeding pickup truck.
"What time is it Uncle Emil?"
"Six-forty."
We paddled on.
"Archie me lad, we'll skin this cat a different way. Gather some wood and I'll get a fire going. When she burns to coals we'll bake us some bread and I'll smoke up whatever you can catch from shore."
We heaped the wood high and fired up a blaze they could have seen down in Cranberry Portage. Made me want to strip to skivvies, slash muddied stripes across my face and dance around the ring 'til I sweated myself clean. Instead I hit the beach with the burden of bobber fishing for my breakfast. Emil rummaged through the tarp and started packing for morning.
Half dozen walleyes and a pair of jumbo perch in twenty minutes. Not bad. "Enough to make us a little supper Archie and smoke what's left. Two birds, eh?"
For the first time I made the dough ball for pan bread, added a joy of sweet stuff and propped it to brown. Emil did up a small pot of dried apricots and floated a couple of seasoned fillets in a frying pan of foamed butter. Smelled like home. Now there's an odd thought. Twenty-five miles into the bush and it smelled like home.
While we ate, Uncle Emil banked the coals, salted the fillets and laid them tenderly on the edges of the grill to slowly soak up some heat. "Umm-umm, she'll be some good eatin' in the morning. Should be enough left for a little snack or two on the trail."
"Any idea how long it'll take to reach Wedge?"
Emil looked at the ground, raised his eyes to the woods behind us, looked to the sky, tested the wind with a wetted finger, held a raised thumb like a plumb bob and began to write out a few calculations in the air. Paused, stroked his chin,
"Call it five hours, twelve minutes and thirty-seven seconds, give or take. Archie me lad, your guess is as good as mine. Our way in from Wedge was pathless. So is our way out. Only this time our pathless path will be a bit longer and a little more seat of the pants. Who knows how many of our markers are still be standing? And if we'd be able to follow them anyway."
Not much left to do but sit on the preservers and once again be absorbed by the growing dark. Took a while and never did quite make it. Didn't matter to us. It's hard to get bored in the bush. Too much going on all the time. Pillars of midges rose to the sky between the few scrubby jack pines left surrounding our site. Thousands of tiny feeding rings slowly spread shore to shore on the mirror in front of us. Couldn't see the sun go down but I guess it did. The pelicans returned and flotilla-ed by, giving us nary a look. What did they care? We'd be gone in the morning and hadn't put a dent in their larder. Soon they'd again be lords and ladies of the lake.
"Dark enough. Time to turn in. I'll bank the coals, give the fillets another turn and leave them to the night. Tomorrow will be a day we'll not soon forget. Best way to approach it is after a good night's sleep and with a full belly."
Sleep took its time. Felt like Christmas Eve. Yeah, I was excited. Way excited about what was coming. And scared. Not like we were going to die scared. Scared like we were in for a lot of work. Painful work. Climbing over and under kind of work. Must have tossed and turned a good three minutes fretting about the morning.
You see, sleep was my friend. Nothing at night or waiting in the morning was so momentous it ruined a good night's sack time. Years later, in Vietnam, I also slept like a baby. B-52 strike, monsoon downpour, highway for a mattress, rice paddy floor, tree line, didn't matter where I made my bed, my eyes would close and I'd drift off to another world. 'Specially when misery was in the offing. Whether or not unhappiness was waiting back in the Manitoba woods was yet to be seen. Probably was. But nerves or not, this boy conked right out.
I awoke to find myself alone. I'd have laid there wondering where Uncle Emil had disappeared but my bladder told me to go out and find him.
'Uncle Emil, you might wanna come back here and take a look."
I'd stepped aways into the woods to take a leak and finally had a good look at what the storm'd done. The few trees that had dropped around our site didn't do the damage justice.
"Could it be you mean all the jackstrawed timber between here and Wedge? I gave it a look-see yesterday. Even walked went back a few yards to check it out. Didn't want to say anything 'til we had to wade in and have us some fun. Couldn't see the point in talking about it. But I did give what was coming some thought. It'll be a bugger for sure. Probably demand twice what the carry in did. But we'll do her and when it's over, be glad we did."
Before sitting down to eat we paddled out on the lake.
"Last chance on the water Uncle Emil?"
"That and filling up the water jug and canteens. We'll sweat up a storm on the bushwhack. May as well drink all we can hold before setting out and carry a gallon with us."
Took our time with breakfast. Why not? Five minutes more or less wouldn't make much difference in our day. While we ate I happened to notice my uncle had a new eye, a pine tree inserted sideways. Guess that said it all. By nine we were off.
What can you say about misery? Kind of goes like this: At first it's a challenge, almost easy 'cause it's new. Hoist a pack, carry it 'til it hurts, set it down and go back for another. Next, it gets tougher, hurts sooner and you think you can't do it. Finally, you get used to the pain, accept that it won't get any better, won't kill you and just keep plodding on. You get lost in thought but pay close attention when working your way over or though a pile of splintered timber.
The good news was no more than half of the forest had been blown flat. That was also the bad news. Some twisted and torn trunks had reached the ground and laid there like a thousand weather vanes pointing down wind. Those trees you could straddle over or if too high, crawl under. Some had ricocheted off other trunks on the way down and crisscrossed with others on the ground. Jackstrawed was what Emil called them. I'd go around the piles if possible. Only had to go over one and it wasn't very big. Some had tipped and hung up in the branches of other, still standing trees. He called them widow makers. Those I usually scurried under, hunched and braced should one fall. Not sure what I was preparing for. If one fell I'd have driven into the ground like a tent peg by a pile driver.
"Never know when they'll come down. Should you be standing under one when it does, that's all she wrote. Send a letter to your wife, she'd be the widow, the tree the maker, letting her know her what a great guy you'd been 'til you went and did something stupid."
We did the carry in stages, a lot more stages than the trip in. Emil still had enough ribbon to mark our gear piles where we'd set them down. Made them easier to find when we returned. Retrieved them as we passed on so as not to run out. Again it was a compass guided course with as much allowance for swamp as possible.
Our three planned rests stretched to eight, each a pipe, snack and conversation break.
"Archie me lad, this sure is something. Probably feel better if I wasn't smoking. Probably also feel better if I was twenty years younger. You know what? If I'd have known this was in the cards before we set off, we'd've still done her. So long as neither of us gets hurt and if we keep our wits about us neither of us will, going through what we're going through makes it that much sweeter. The only thing I'd change is to have a cold beer right now. And maybe a coke for you. But first a beer for me. A LaBatts fresh out of a tub of ice. Sounds sooo good."
Our signal to go was always a "saddle up" followed by a grunt of rising from Emil. We'd reload and go at it again.
The biggest bugger was the canoe. Emil'd move it solo when possible. More often than not it'd be the two of us, one at each end, hoisting it over or dragging it under the toppled trees. A slow, sweating, grunting carry.
Break four had me lusting for the coke Uncle Emil had mentioned back on stop two.
"Twenty-five ouncer in the big glass bottle. I'd drain it straight. And lick up the foam that'd come pouring out my ears. And maybe four cheeseburgers just like the ones from The Clock Drive-in over on Broadway. Line 'em up and knock 'em down. Wash 'em down with another big coke. I've done nothing but think about that combination for the last hour. When we get out can we see if the Canadians down in The Pas can fry up some burgers?"
"Didn't we already do that? And don't you remember what the burger was like?"
"I don't care. And maybe they've gotten better since we were there. If not, I'll go for the gravy next time."
So it went. Hour after hour. A city block in we were already mud spattered and pitch covered. And it kept layering on with every straddle, crawl and climb. My hands, clothes and packs were thick with pine tar and sap. Smelled like turpentine mixed with honey. Needles and bits of bark stuck to the pitch. As my sweat began to flow I'd wipe my face with a sleeve or back of hand. More pitch, more bark, more needles. Halfway through I looked like I'd been tarred and feathered. Tar baby from the Uncle Remus stories was what Emil said.
Uncle Emil was no better. On break five we just pointed at each other and laughed. Food tasted like pine as did the smell of Emil's pipe tobacco. Seemed he'd dropped his pipe a couple of times and it too had started to coat up. Yeah, we were a sight to behold.
By the time we reached Wedge we were moving not much faster than the glaciers that had passed through a few thousand years earlier. We'd finished every morsel of food in the day pack - had to drink the molten Hershey bars - drained all the water and hurt everywhere. I swear, even my hair hurt.
"We'll take a short break, then load and hit the water. Maybe drink up the entire lake on the way to camp. Of course once the lake's dry we'd be back to portaging so be careful with your intake. First order in camp will be to eat. Then set up the tent. Take a swim. Go to bed. That's it. Don't know about you but I'll be a paddling dead man."
Being back on the water beat the pants off going through the woods. Of course so would being dragged down a gravel road behind a speeding pickup truck.
"What time is it Uncle Emil?"
"Six-forty."
We paddled on.
Tuesday, March 25, 2014
Canada XLV - Completing the Lake
My Uncle Emil was from another planet. No doubt about it. No other way to explain what he was doing. There we sat eating breakfast like we had all the time in the world. Nowhere to go, nothing to do. Except finish seeing the remaining lakeshore. That there were hundreds of downed trees between us and Wedge Lake seemed to be of no matter to the man.
"Archie me lad, what can we do about it? What's there is there. It'll still be there tomorrow. For the moment we're fine, have enough to eat and a lake full of fish should we run short. But we won't unless you're up for more of the same. Today we finish what we came here to do. Maybe you'll do us the honor of snagging a few walleyes on the way. Tonight we'll take it easy. Start up 'Of Mice and Men.' Tomorrow we set to work moving this camp through the jackstraw."
We fished and ate till seven in the evening. Nothing else. Emil did a lot of chuckling and never seemed to tire of paddling us around the lake. We hit every remaining reef, island, point and bay. Surveyed the storms damage. Our north shore looked pretty torn up, the south not so bad. Our time on the water took all of ten hours under the deep blue sky. My uncle would call time out every so often and we'd pull to shore. There we'd snack and he'd talk.
"Thought I'd seen most everything there is to see out on the water. Had a ship blown to pieces around me, seen the ocean aglow at night while we steamed the tropics, slaked my thirst with rain barrel water in the Philippines, rolled a canoe 'cause I was an idiot and once I went swimming in Lake Superior just to enjoy the pain."
Here he paused for a minute. Stoked the pipe. "Seen the sun rise, and seen it set but I'd never seen St. Elmo's fire 'til yesterday. Don't ever want to see it again. Something about it says a man's days are numbered and that number can be counted on half a finger. Felt as though my body was filling up with electricity and could explode any minute. Could have lit a light bulb all by myself. Way back when, the sailors used to take it as a sign of the supernatural, evil or even God. Maybe from Heaven, maybe Hell. They figured it didn't matter. Either way something powerful was coming for sure. Can't say I felt any different. That's why we went ashore as fast as we did."
"The way I see it there's as many signs in the Heavens and on Earth these days as there ever was. Why should it be any different? A man just has to step back now and then, pay attention. Take it seriously. Call it God talking, call it what you want. It'd be a lot easier to understand if God spoke English and took out ad space in the Tribune. Whatever it is up there, out there or in there, it's still talking. But a body has to be quiet, both inside and out, to hear that whispering voice. Sometimes it's no more than a gut feeling. Like maybe yesterday and staying out on the slab. 'Course, sometimes that gut feeling's only gas and heartburn."
Good grief. What could I say to something like that? Okay, he was right about last night. Was even smart enough to stay out of the tent. And now didn't seem in any hurry to get out of here. Maybe he knew something I didn't? Probably a lot. Don't know what was the cause but from the moment I got off the train back in Alexandria I'd felt happy being where I was. Safe like I was in good hands. Honestly, I did feel a little on edge hunkered down on the rock in the storm with lightning booming down but that only lasted a few minutes.
"Uncle Emil, you ever want to do another trip like this one and you need someone in the front of the canoe, I'm your man."
"Archie, that you are. If you're still saying the same thing when we get back to the lodge, I'll be sure to take you up on it."
We trolled our way back to camp. Last chance to find out what it was that tore up my spinner. Monsters of the deep are usually caught in the very last minute of every wilderness adventure. That's what Sports Afield said anyhow. And I did hook up. And it did feel huge. But it was only an eight pound pike. Disappointed? Yup.
"That sure isn't much of a pike. But Archie, from what we've seen, it may be the biggest jack fish in this lake, with the biggest teeth. So I guess, in that sense, that fish is The Lake With No Name Monster (cackle of horror movie laughter followed by deep cough and golf ball sized wad of gob into the lake). Uf dah, thought I was gonna blow out my liver."
"Archie me lad, what can we do about it? What's there is there. It'll still be there tomorrow. For the moment we're fine, have enough to eat and a lake full of fish should we run short. But we won't unless you're up for more of the same. Today we finish what we came here to do. Maybe you'll do us the honor of snagging a few walleyes on the way. Tonight we'll take it easy. Start up 'Of Mice and Men.' Tomorrow we set to work moving this camp through the jackstraw."
We fished and ate till seven in the evening. Nothing else. Emil did a lot of chuckling and never seemed to tire of paddling us around the lake. We hit every remaining reef, island, point and bay. Surveyed the storms damage. Our north shore looked pretty torn up, the south not so bad. Our time on the water took all of ten hours under the deep blue sky. My uncle would call time out every so often and we'd pull to shore. There we'd snack and he'd talk.
"Thought I'd seen most everything there is to see out on the water. Had a ship blown to pieces around me, seen the ocean aglow at night while we steamed the tropics, slaked my thirst with rain barrel water in the Philippines, rolled a canoe 'cause I was an idiot and once I went swimming in Lake Superior just to enjoy the pain."
Here he paused for a minute. Stoked the pipe. "Seen the sun rise, and seen it set but I'd never seen St. Elmo's fire 'til yesterday. Don't ever want to see it again. Something about it says a man's days are numbered and that number can be counted on half a finger. Felt as though my body was filling up with electricity and could explode any minute. Could have lit a light bulb all by myself. Way back when, the sailors used to take it as a sign of the supernatural, evil or even God. Maybe from Heaven, maybe Hell. They figured it didn't matter. Either way something powerful was coming for sure. Can't say I felt any different. That's why we went ashore as fast as we did."
"The way I see it there's as many signs in the Heavens and on Earth these days as there ever was. Why should it be any different? A man just has to step back now and then, pay attention. Take it seriously. Call it God talking, call it what you want. It'd be a lot easier to understand if God spoke English and took out ad space in the Tribune. Whatever it is up there, out there or in there, it's still talking. But a body has to be quiet, both inside and out, to hear that whispering voice. Sometimes it's no more than a gut feeling. Like maybe yesterday and staying out on the slab. 'Course, sometimes that gut feeling's only gas and heartburn."
Good grief. What could I say to something like that? Okay, he was right about last night. Was even smart enough to stay out of the tent. And now didn't seem in any hurry to get out of here. Maybe he knew something I didn't? Probably a lot. Don't know what was the cause but from the moment I got off the train back in Alexandria I'd felt happy being where I was. Safe like I was in good hands. Honestly, I did feel a little on edge hunkered down on the rock in the storm with lightning booming down but that only lasted a few minutes.
"Uncle Emil, you ever want to do another trip like this one and you need someone in the front of the canoe, I'm your man."
"Archie, that you are. If you're still saying the same thing when we get back to the lodge, I'll be sure to take you up on it."
We trolled our way back to camp. Last chance to find out what it was that tore up my spinner. Monsters of the deep are usually caught in the very last minute of every wilderness adventure. That's what Sports Afield said anyhow. And I did hook up. And it did feel huge. But it was only an eight pound pike. Disappointed? Yup.
"That sure isn't much of a pike. But Archie, from what we've seen, it may be the biggest jack fish in this lake, with the biggest teeth. So I guess, in that sense, that fish is The Lake With No Name Monster (cackle of horror movie laughter followed by deep cough and golf ball sized wad of gob into the lake). Uf dah, thought I was gonna blow out my liver."
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