Friday, November 03, 2006

For the Old Man

The next four posts are different parts of the same story...I've posted them in chronological order to avoid possible confusion. Commentary always appreciated. Thanks for stopping by...Enjoy.


I've decided that I do what I do because my dad never had the opportunity to do them himself. On the drive back from Moose Lake earlier today, I finally sorted out what I'd been thinking for a pretty good chunk of the weekend. My dad always wanted to do things like camp up in the BWCAW...He really was interested in doing things like that. Maybe not the BW specifically, but definitely embarking on adventures along those lines. But, he was dealt a different hand in his life, and was never really able to see those dreams come to fruition. That isn't a bad thing, really...We're all put here for some purpose. He and I didn't always see eye to eye on a lot of things...Most of them being what he wanted for me and wanted me to become. A couple of decades later, I still have yet to figure out what that was supposed to be exactly. Finally, he gave in to the fact that I was who I was going to be and that nobody in heaven or on earth was going to be able to make me otherwise.

I guess for him my life between the time I left home and today is an exercise in vicarious living. Even though I didn't know it or appreciate it, or him for that matter, he was proud of me...regardless of how hard I tried to push him away from me. Nowadays, now that he's gone I wish he were still alive to listen to me ramble on about my last weekend on the lake...Harrowing details and all. I guess I started thinking about the whole thing when I woke up that Friday morning underneath my tarp cocooned inside my sleeping bag.

Moose Lake. Long, narrow, and just a little deep. Well, all of them are, to a major degree. The lakes that make up the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness are deep gouges and scars left on the land by ancient glaciers that covered this area in ice eons ago. You can see the scrapes and cuts in the bare exposed rock that surrounds and makes up the area. I woke up just after sunrise to the prospect of undiscovered country...I'm still a pretty green adventurer at this point, so much of what I experience up there is new. I can't really remember if we had breakfast at all that morning. I do know that we made a small fire on the landing after we brought all the gear and canoes down to the water the previous evening and did our very best to kill the remains of a barrel that Tommy had brought along for the trip.

The ground was thick with frost when I laid my tarp out and folded it in half, slipping my sleeping bag into the fold, with a log or two on the bottom and along the side to keep any breezes during the night from blowing my bivouac off of me. Just before dawn broke, I woke up to the sound of a fisherman putting in from the landing with his dog "Lucky." He had a boat with a motor, and cruised off into the crisp morning. After he had loaded up and motored off into the lake, I managed about 45 minute's worth of shuteye before finally having to begin the morning ritual. Gingerly, I eased my arms out of my bag and began peeling my tarp away from me. It wasn't exactly the kind of morning that I had hoped for...fortunately though the breeze was at our backs for the trip into Ensign Lake

Our goal that morning was a campsite in a small bay on Ensign, by way of Moose and Newfound Lakes and then a short portage into and out of Splash Lake. We made that with no problem at all. A nice breeze was at our backs as we paddled up Moose and Newfound to the portage into Ensign. A relatively short trip, if you really think about it. Statute mileage sits at about eight or so from the landing at Moose Lake. But that's also eight miles of blowdown, impassable terrain, water and wilderness. It also seems like weather changes quicker, and often at the drop of a hat. On the other hand, there aren't any bugs (lots of water = lots of mosquitos and other insects) and not many people (lots of water = lots of would-be voyageurs), which is nice because...I don't like a lot of people hanging about. I'm a small town kid. Always will be. (Insert John Mellencamp interlude here)

with a little birch Ensign Lake. A nifty little spot of water a couple of short portages from Newfound Lake. Nice little islands a few hundred yards off the shore and a peninsula in the middle. We hit camp at about noon or so after taking off from the landing shortly after gearing up and putting in. It sat at the end of a small bay on the western part of the peninsula, surrounded by higher ridgelines blowdown and a small old growth cedar grove just to the northwest. Thicket and bramble, hard to navigate on foot. A nice spot, though. plenty of room for everyone and their tents. And our gear. And our food...and beer. We portaged in two five gallon kegs, four growlers (another two gallons), a bit of Windsor, some vodka for Sunday bloodies, and Bailey's for coffee (I brought three pounds of it) in the morning. And add to that a good thirty or so pounds of meat and toss in some miscellaneous food items. We ate and drank and paddled and hiked and lounged and listened to the absolute worst Vikings game in history on the small weather radio we had with us. We enjoyed three lazy days and nights far out from where anyone could find us.

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1 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

What is your email, yo? Email me, plz adam [at] transistormag.com

11:31 AM  

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