Monthly Archives: September 2022

The Secret:Watching My Movies

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It’s a rather chilly morning here on Black Lake as September 2022 ushers in its final days. This morning’s temperature will seem like a heat wave a couple months from now just ahead of the annual ice up of the entire lake. Autumn is one of nature’s most vivid seasons here in our four season climate. I am a person who loves to reflect deeply about the power and purpose of seasonal change. Autumn is a time for new discovery in the midst of the transformation. Beauty will be found in the smallest places and in the smallest observations. It is the time of the whitetail deer in this region to live out their finest moments of the year. Natural selection at it’s finest by mid November. The lessons of the deer will be waiting to be read by those who wander the forest.Today I doubt that the people who live in the path of hurricane Ian are headed off to school. They are probably not seeing beauty in nature at this moment. I am not there but I feel humbled in the face of nature’s fury. The power of nature is supreme. Those things that we as humans can not control. Leaves that will fall from the trees and lakes that will freeze. Nature is best represented by a circle. No corners or sharp angles. We as humans seem to live in a box at times. That’s a fun place to explore on a different day.

The other morning I had worked on dual subject post that was mostly lost. Exactly how that happened is still under investigation and people are being skeptical about the whole Mr. Jangles conspiracy that I presented. It’s best to sleeping dogs lay as they say. Besides this isn’t a debate page anymore then I have the ability to solve the unexplained. The truth always comes through in the end. Abraham Lincoln once said that no person has a good enough memory to be a successful liar. Smart man! Also noteworthy this quote by Mark Twain:If you tell the truth you don’t have to remember anything. Enter my research project: the works of Mark Twain. Today is a good day to learn something new.

The first letter of MOONTABS stands for memories. Mine, yours,and everyone’s. Today my own as I try to get the stories of my journey of life told with accurate detail. It’s always bothered me what I can’t remember and how much I was forgetting as time passed. I think a lot people feel like that given conversations I have gotten into over the years. I have some good news for anyone who is getting anxious right now! We aren’t wired to remember everything. Ponder something I read once although I can’t remember when. The average person has some 70,000 random thoughts per day.Hmmm. It’s 8:12 AM and I feel like my count is already passing 40,000. Coffee’s great!At night when we sleep our brain shifts through them and imprints some to our permanent memories. The remaining multitude of information gets flushed down the proverbial drain. It’s much more complicated then that of course and I can’t remember the rest of it. Big tip! I can look up such random information again! To bad I can’t do that with every detail of my personal journey. Why is all this so important to me? That’s a slippery slope to snowboard down. ( I had my hands on my snowboard yesterday!) The importance of certain memories is a future post that I will write once I finish a family genealogy research project. I hope that you are remembering all the posts I have been promising to write for you up to this point. I have forgotten. But a promise is never broken until it is never kept.

If you follow and have read my posts then you are familiar with the house fire of 2012 that my family experienced. One of the worst days of my life. But also a new intersection in my journey that would profoundly shape the future. A day that would ultimately drive me to empty Quill writing pads and stuff the scribbled words into simply titled and stash them away. I would eventually write on Facebook and be led to blogging. This is getting complicated for me and I am the orchestrator of my life’s symphony.Time to hit the slippery slopes and head down towards the Secret.

This trip down the slope is tricky and if I take us over that big jump we will probably wipe out! Best to turn off and take that easier trail through the forest. We will get to the bottom of the slope that way.One word is as solid as a sturdy set of Burton bindings. Journals! Diary’s for some. Handwritten by most people. My ground zero of writing where pensive creativity hadn’t found me yet. My simple journals spanned decades of my life.It’s a story best told in greater detail. Not today though. Another story and yet another promise I know. Don’t worry I am writing them down on paper now. Maybe you should as well just in case I lose my list. Lists for me are still handwritten on paper even though I could go digital. As are all my rhyming story poems. That story must also wait. Consider it more tangible to me. I feel telling a story properly takes time and involves an intense retrieval process. The memories are all there. I just need to unearth all the myriad of small details. Then place them upon this page.Do you remember what Mr. Jangles said? And you thought being me was simple! Silly you!

Enter one part of the secret:Writing things down with a ballpoint pen on paper helps me remember them better. That’s always been an important component to me when writing journals and to hold an old one in my hands is priceless. Mine were mostly written in simple school three subject notebooks that were never the same size or containing the same number of pages. They would get bent and wrinkled by abuse. The quality of what lies inside something or someone can’t be judged by a cover. Some of my best rhyming stories started out on cardboard boxes. Written with a black Sharpe. When inspiration surfaces it’s got to be recorded quickly or the moment can be lost. If you’ve ever read the story behind the origins of the poem Kubla Khan by Samuel Taylor Coleridge then that might sense. He was interrupted while creating it and the inspiration was suddenly lost. My inspiration comes from a far different source but I identified with something there. That being said it wasn’t the quality of the paper or the ink that was important. It was the words themselves. And in the small details that would live in them. But my tragedy was in the paper itself. There was no backup if the journals were lost. And lost they were. To fire. Don’t be sad! I longer feel that way. I went to the pity party for awhile but didn’t stay too long. I was bored there and it was so dark I couldn’t see. There’s a happy ending to this story that I believe I mentioned once. Things that shaped me show up over and over on these pages. I am going to need a digital tool to handle that redundancy someday.

What’s important right now is to begin to share the secret! The story behind the movie itself! Picture this: me sitting in my plush recliner in my office at the farm. The room was awesome! I had my personal stamp on everything. This my room and I had built it out with a rustic themed concept. It looked like the inside of an ancient barn. Hand hewed corner posts and a wooden ceiling with hemlock support rafters. An oak plank floor put down with antique nails. A decent sized window that looked out over our main meadow behind the house. My father and stepmom had used this very same room for a sitting room. My recliner was in the same place our father’s had been placed. I had an entire wall of bookshelves filled beyond capacity. A gun cabinet full of my guns and those that had belonged to my father. There was a tv as well but that was more for Zane then me. I had given him a place to stamp his personality into my small office. Just below my tv platform he had a child’s desk and chair. There was a section of wall for displaying his artwork and pictures. I wanted him to always feel welcome in my private sanctuary. In evenings he would come in and climb up into the recliner with me while I was reading. I read to him quite often and he had a section of the office for his own books. I also had an antique desk of our father’s that I used for my mail and financial paperwork. There was a large oaken chest and all my photo albums in the room as well. I could write an entire story about the 2008 farm house renovation. I put a lot of myself into that project and even managed to lose my job over it! I just added that story to the promised list.

Back to the recliner now. It’s a rainy Sunday afternoon and there’s no work till tomorrow. The cattle are all in behind the fences and they are feeding across the meadow. That’s a plus! When they get out? Yuck! It’s a private moment of quiet where I am getting ready to begin adding to my current journal. It’s not something I make the time for everyday and that’s why it’s special. Tomorrow I will jumping back into the fray of a Monday. Farming keeps me busy and so does work. There’s a bigger plan in the farming. A stash of “Mad Money”. Never entered into the family’s financial needs unless it’s an emergency. It’s my traveling money. Bush trips mostly but something much more adventurous is brewing. Alaska someday. I will need to cull the herd for that one I think to myself. The mixed breed herd is about 20 strong now and growing. They all have names that are as wacky as can be! I see Crazy Face and Gladiator. Snow Ball and Little Herf. South Dev and all the ones that I can’t remember now. The rain intensifies and I don’t feel the need to be outside. This is perfect. I could watch a movie on tv I thought. No I would rather write today. But before I start I think I will revisit an old journal in the stack. There’s a movie waiting right there for me. I already know how it ends but that’s ok. I can’t remember everything that happened and I haven’t seen it in awhile.

I open the journal and immediately smell the old dried ink left on the paper. There’s a starting date and an opening line. And the movie begins. It’s a strange thing I think. My eyes reading and my memories that flood in as the movie picks up pace. I am the main character but there’s almost always others. Although my writing sometimes dove to hidden levels of privacy where no other characters appeared. I kept my journals locked up and no one was allowed to read them. So what’s the big deal or the big secret of the movie? It’s in those small flushed details that I didn’t have a prayer of remembering. Reading the words that I had written brings them back immediately. Thus the term The Movie. I expect someone else has written about this but I have never researched it . (new addition to research project list). I read on and the forgotten details now are refreshed. Weather events. Work. Plans. Dreams. Hope. All there in the movie! Then the epiphanies. Oh wow! How could I have ever forgotten that funny moment or that awesome day? It’s a past me that I can examine with no chance of time buffering over the details. It’s all here. My real life as it was lived. I stop reading for a moment and pause the movie. Where am I now I ponder? Have I stayed on track? Then the echoes of the what “ifs”. What if I had listened to my inner voice? What if I had only known that? What if I had known this was coming and could have planned better? It’s not a place of regret. Nor longing for days gone past. I was much to down to earth to worry about that sort of thing or the rattling chains of ghosts from the past. They were harmless in my sense of now. My focus was on the future. I was strong and capable. Feet grounded on the acres of the farm and connected to nature. What was I learning while filming the movie?Was I the best possible me?What else? That was too heavy for a relaxing Sunday afternoon I would think. I could always revisit that subject on the way to work tomorrow if I got bored driving. I read on and the movie begins again. I would get lost in the moment.

Eventually I’d reach a point where I would stop reading and jump into writing in my current journal . Or maybe I would go outside and tackle some farm task. Any thoughts of writing books never occurred to me in those busy days of endless push. Dreams of retirement kept me dialed in and focused. Fast forward. The fire and post fire days. Many things were destined to happen and they did. But like any of us I pressed forward.Life got better and we were figuring things out. The Alaska trip happened. There were many days of mundane routine in that race to the future.But I was pretty good at getting time off from work when I needed it to reboot. Enter the first thoughts of the importance of leaving a written family legacy. Not just my story but my family’s story. I resumed some journal writing but in a different capacity. Bigger things were waiting for me and I had no clue. The words were building up far below my surface far beyond any small surge I had ever experienced. They were like a natural defense that would someday protect me in my push forward. Call it my spirit energy immune system. That’s heavy!😂

So that’s my secret in this my very personal continuing introduction. Why so personal? The Intersection series. That story needs to wait a bit as I piece it together.It’s connected to events and time with a two year set of details. It’s a tricky write honestly.My secret will sound familiar to some people. It may sound similar to something else you’ve read. Maybe it makes no sense at all. The happy ending? Not all my journals were lost. A few survived. And if I told you that 10 times alright then you know that’s it important to me. The rest is a little more complicated. That which I once wrote on paper is going to be easier to retrieve. Albeit it’s going to take time. Those words may be waiting on the other end of the line when I hear those custom ringtones I mentioned awhile ago. That’s pretty heavy too.I have helped build out many construction projects over the years. This is far different. MOONTABS will be by far my largest ever personal endeavor and it had to start with a foundation. My journey of survival is the foundation. Nature has taught me many things but most of all survival. Not of the fittest but as a part of a bigger whole.I hope to build something that others will enjoy as much as I enjoy building it.It’s not just mine to build or occupy. It’s going to take the cast of characters all learning skills and gaining insight.Building as we go. There’s a bigger place of understanding here that I don’t always recognize myself. So I don’t have all the answers yet. The search is very real as is the surge. The fictional forests of Tasmania symbolize my connection to nature in ways my imagination and curiosity can’t even begin to fathom. Each tree a story. The big and the small. The living and the dead. All things are connected by energy I feel. One more thing! Mr. Jangles is very real! He lives in Western Quebec! Or have you forgotten already?✍️

Hill House Days

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Monday morning and the rain has returned again. It is that time of year when it often gets very damp here. Autumn is taking charge now. I heard some local geese here on the lake last night but they aren’t the ringtone ones that I mentioned yesterday. The local geese have become a nuisance here these days. As daylight arrives I hear distant gunfire as hunters cull them from the cornfields.One thing I forgot to mention yesterday was snow geese. They are the true geese of the north these days. Their late season migration is a different ringtone. Almost like an alarm going off. But the ringtones haven’t rang yet so the rest of yesterday’s story must wait for now.

Wish me luck this morning as we battle the technical issues experienced recently. Maybe I should have thrown the technology overboard in Quebec and never looked back!But then you would be missing out on the balloon release of adventure, life, and exploration. I don’t want that for us. I will be sending out a brief message this morning speaking of all those writing projects that never get read by anyone but me. I do read them to Zane sometimes. I read him something after dinner the other night here at Camp Edith. He listened quietly and then said that’s good Dad! Then my often quiet son who sometimes reminds of my own father said something profound. You write like Mark Twain Dad! Funny I thought since I never read much Mark Twain. I was inspired by authors Zane Grey,Jack London, and Louis L’Amour.That’s an interesting start to today’s story. Then there’s the whole Wally Byam quote that is so similar to my childhood statement to my father many years ago.It’s all just a coincidence right? Or is it something much bigger?

Enter Hill House. Purchased in early spring of 2015 after a search of several months for suitable properties in the area.Town living in Hammond for almost 3 years after the fire was fine. I won’t go into all of the details of that time. The post fire years were busy. But I didn’t know that I was racing towards a slippery intersection.The Hill House property would demand some serious capital investments as it turned out. We were already heavily invested into this property when we eventually paid to bring electricity to it. Quite the story there. We had lived off grid for well over a year while I was still working full time. Solar charging and batteries.Using the sun to supply our power was a great connection to nature. Great in the summer.Not so good in the fall and winter. The “Dark Ages” I called those months when we needed a generator to keep the batteries charged each day. It got rather old after awhile. The price the utility company was demanding to bring the power in was an insult of its own! I can’t tell you how evenings that I walked the road along the bony rock cut looking for a better solution. As things sometimes happen a plan began to show itself one night. I pushed my plan forward as fall threatened to become winter. I called in a few favors and got the project finished. My plan had cut $11k from utility cost. We went onto the grid soon after and life got easier. Where’s the next connection to nature here you might be asking?The connection is in my stubbornness to challenge it by placing us in this location in the first place.Einstein once said you never fail until you quit trying. Not sure if he ever mentioned how to handle those things that “try” our patience.

The off grid property that I named Hill House sat high above an upper section of Black Lake. The views were spectacular! Nature set me up the first time I stood in the great room with the realtor. The snow covered lake was stunning off in the distance! I could envision the sun rises and sunsets! This could be home I thought! It’s my kind of place! I could picture Zane running free and safe here with the dogs. I hated the main highway in Hammond. Deadly to pets and something I always felt was a potential hazard to our young son. So with a reckless burst of positive energy Hill House was purchased.Sure I needed to go to the circus and jump through some fiery financial hoops. But we don’t talk about money and politics here.

The property encompassed some 41 plus acres of rugged land. Beautiful forests, a small creek, and a series of valleys. It had a back access road too. 5 miles from Hammond where Zane went to school. Hill House was .9 miles in from the town plowed road.The private road leading to Hill House was full of curves and several inclines. But one hill in particular was bad news. An 8% grade according to a graph on my truck’s dashboard. Getting the connection to nature a little better now? Think about it for a minute.The dusty dirt road was bad enough during the spring,summer, and fall.But winter was a beast of burden that challenged me after work many times. By now you know me as a lover of high ground and rock. The Hill House property was all that and more. The property certainly answered some inner call and offered a unique living experience. It was maddening at times though in the winter when I had to park my two wheel drive company van at the end of the road and walk the .9 of a mile up to house after work. Sometimes I had to wade through snow before getting the tractor out to plow the road. The walk in actually relaxed me on nights when I didn’t need to plow. There were several small pullouts that I kept plowed out so sometimes I parked much closer to the house. But rarely made “the run” on the hill after one night of getting the van stuck. I was possessed by stubbornness that is difficult to explain. Can’t make the drive in tonight? Walk and enjoy the sunset. Besides exercise is good right? Maybe I thought I was some type of modern pioneer. There’s a connection to nature in that statement.

Ok getting the picture? A big beautiful house overlooking the lake. Privacy and safety. The farm property a mere 15 miles away. A big outside wood boiler that heated the house and the garage for practically nothing. 20 face cords of wood were usually enough. We brought most of it in from farm. There was an abundance of wood there. The forest of the hill house property had limited access due to its rugged layout of ravines so we didn’t cut much wood there. Stewardship is a good word for how I hoped to manage the woods there. There’s a place of peace in managing a forest with an attitude of stewardship.

Enter the event: 2017. Few connections to nature that summer.Two big construction projects to fill my days. One was a monster of deadline and schedule. The best part of the job was all the roof work! Out under the sky playing music with my coworkers.Dozens of energy recovery units that were part of the huge ground water heat extraction project known as phase 4. Nice connection to nature there as they removed almost all of their fossil fuel boilers.My personal life was falling apart but my professional one kept me focused. Things were about to get interesting as I staggered out of “Dark Ages” of a different sort. Cancer had taught me a good many things especially how to fight for my own life. At Hill House I new found new freedom and made big decisions. Zane and I got busy redecorating and setting up the huge painted blackboard where there was always something chalked in. Quotes, rhymes, lists, and funny little drawings. Zane and I tightened up together. We summited our second set of high peaks one weekend in October. Our count was now at four! Only 42 to go! A great rhyming story was written in the sketchy motel room before the hike even started early that morning. Great story there! Especially the part where I could barely climb stairs at work Monday morning!

I was going to retire in November. Things needed to change and I was ready to put things in the rear view mirror. The race intensified to complete my projects as full on heating season approved the NYS school deadline. My boss was not very happy with my decision to retire! I tried to explain my need to take care of my son. We reached a place of common ground eventually. I kept my promise and finished both of my projects. Exit full time work!

I was free! The first two weeks of retirement found me on fire and writing a lot. Some decent material followed I feel.A series of short stories that had been tumbling around for far too long. All hand written on Quill paper pads with a ball point pen. I I got my first IPhone with unlimited data. I played a lot of music and started a collection of custom crafted Pandora stations. I discovered my love of Indie rock with its haunting and soaring notes.Retirement fit me well. A new beginning and a period of new growth. The quiet sanctuary of Hill House was perfect for writing. I had a desk facing the window wall of the lake. I was ok with being alone most of the time. But I missed Zane especially at bedtime. We found a new way forward though and life was good. I was empowered and bending to those proverbial winds of change. The same old me was growing into someone new. Outside on Hill House’s outdoor deck I captured many beautiful sunrises that I had missed while working. I counted my many small blessings in those moments. Zane was my one big blessing! Growing himself.

2018 was a year of intense recreation and continued education in a new direction. Enter the land trusts and conservation volunteer work. Fun and we met a lot of great people. I became involved with SLELO Prism.They are the people who battle and track invasive species across New York State in five different regions. I began to attend all different types of seminars and presentations. Zane came to some of them. It was fun and educational!Worthy of a story and definitely a connection to nature. We moved into Camp Edith in late June. I adopted a rather tough conditioning workout into my weekly routine. Weights and a 40 pound field survival backpack. Evenings would find me kayaking on the lake to further condition my body. The conditioning paid off with huge dividends. We pounded the trails leading to the high peaks of the Adirondacks. Several great rhyming stories were scribbled hastily in the firelight while Zane and I recounted the day’s events. We laughed and laughed as I wrote them!Life was good! I even managed to work a little! We left Camp Edith in late August and returned to the comforts of Hill House. We regrouped for the next adventures. This brief foray into that year doesn’t even come close to covering all the details. But you don’t want to hear about everything. At Hill House we discovered that we weren’t alone! We had uninvited guests! Mice!

Fast forward to 2019 when I first decided to sell Hill House and listed it with an agent. Retirement was great and I was working part time for my former employer. There were more periods of creativity and writing projects. But Hill House had started to feel like an anchor. My connection to nature and Hill House was beginning to break.We loved many things about it but it was becoming something else for me. A symbol of “The Old Life” as I began to think of it that way. The house didn’t sell and we preparing for another winter as the seasons changed. Life was good. Good health and good fortune. Many happy adventures as Zane and I pounded down our ADK 46 high peaks challenge. I was trying to figure out a plan for my writing but I wasn’t pushing towards publishing. I blamed making myself too busy for my hesitation to advance. Work, adventures, and all the other small details that filled my days. It is of little consequence now as those days are the proverbial water under the bridge. We were needing a new direction.

Fast forward to 2020 and another real estate agent. Once again the contract ran out despite her hard work. People would come look at the property but always step away. The remote location we loved so much was the problem. The road and the whole winter situation was too much for most people. We were searching for that one special buyer. Little did we know they were searching too! We just hadn’t found each other yet.Things were good for us though. I counted our small blessings. I took a job in Beaver, Pennsylvania to raise extra funds for future writing plans. The setting kept my words subdued but I did write the funny rhyming story “Beaver Cracker Head”while I was down there. Zane and I finished our final Adirondack high peak in September while I was home from Beaver on a week long break. The real estate contract expired and I tried a different approach. Zillow. But it just sat there as we prepared for another winter. I ditched Beaver in October and took a short call job at Whiteface Mountain near Lake Placid. Things were entering my circle that would ultimately change many things for me. Back home to Hill House by early November I enjoyed freedom once again. I threw myself into firewood and farm details. Sugar wood and getting hay put away. But new energy was about to enter the equation as autumn sped past.

Enter a new character. It was Xmas eve when I got a message inquiring about the property. I didn’t take it seriously at first but a fellow named Scott kept messaging me and asking questions about the property.He eventually wanted to talk on the phone and we exchanged some background information. He told me quite a lot about himself and I liked chatting with him. He expressed interest in looking at the property sometime that winter.It was now 2021.Someone from Pennsylvania had also inquired about it too through a realtor. The realtor and I would enter into a partnership to attempt to get it sold. The Pennsylvania people toured the property but didn’t make an offer. Scott came up one winter day and we became introduced. I gave him a guided tour of the house.We ate lunch together inside hill house before heading over back to tour the remainder of the property. It was a fun day and we had some great conversations. Scott knew about the Pennsylvania people because I had mentioned them to him.He asked for a private moment to call his wife then came in and said that they wanted the property contingent on his family’s approval. We closed the deal and shook on it. Very old school and I liked his honest demeanor. He asked if I would hold the property until he could bring his family up to check it out. We agreed on a timeline and that was that! We had found our people and they had found us! Things followed quickly after that and we left Hill House in late March after the closing.

Scott and I became friends although we never saw each other that much. We stayed in touch with texts and the occasional phone call. He had questions about the house and I would help him navigate his way forward with the new property. He and his family loved the property! They renamed the house and began making it their own. I got to see it on occasion as they repainted walls and got the place furnished. Everyone got what they wanted in the end and I figured that was some positive energy in motion. I can’t think of anyone else that I would have wanted to turn the property over too!2021 was filled with adventure, work, and so more. Those days keep showing up in these posts from time to time.

2022. A year of change again as new intersections were reached. Lots of time to tell that story once I reflect on it further. Autumn has arrived now. The perfect time to find reflections in the waters of northern New York.This past week I got a text from Scott that he was going to be staying up at the property for over a week. We made plans to meet up at his place where we got a chance to meet his friend Mike briefly. I returned to see Scott and Mike late Sunday. We got into some heavy conversations! Turns out that Mike had gone to college and become a writer years ago! All this before he joined the military and later entered his present career.Mike’s Dad had also been a writer! Imagine how those conversations went!We talked a long time while Scott finished up some last minute house details. At one point in our conversation Mike started calling me a story teller. He said my writing reminded him of Mark Twain! The same thing Zane had mentioned to me! That’s very flattering! There were lots of things to learn about Mike! His personal journey story inspired me as did his Dad’s story. We plan to keep in touch and I asked if he still wrote. No he said but I am thinking about starting up again.You should Mike! I told him.Let’s push each other to get busy with our projects!

You could say that all this is nothing more then a series of unique circumstances. Sure I paddle my canoe of life in a certain direction. But not always. People continue to enter my story with an energy and unpredictability that can’t be simple coincidence. One in particular.Impressions. The magic of the first and of the lasting.Mark Twain and Wally Byam entered the journey despite being long gone but are now destined to leave a lasting impression. What connects us and brings us together? The living and the dead. It’s been said that energy is neither created or destroyed. What brings us all together? Nature in it’s most elemental form. We all need this tiny planet to survive. The questions are many and keep coming.Where’s all this lead and what will happen from all these chance meetings? New friends and new stimulating conversations. New directions and new beginnings. New places and endless possibilities.

I hope you enjoyed this very personal and continued introduction to my journey. Why do I tell you so much? That’s an easy one! Can you find yourself anywhere in my lines?Ponder this one: growth. Let’s make a date! Let’s come back to this day a year from now and see where we are in the ever changing now. Will there be growth? I can’t promise you anything. Just an honest story about life and my personal journey.As I so often say: It’s enough! And when it isn’t? Make it become enough! I think Mr. Jangles said it best: And you thought being me was simple! Silly you!

The writing projects that no one gets to read will be published eventually. It’s going to take me some serious focus to get to that next level.The problem is me always hard charging the future. I hate to sit for too long. I will be taking to the road on Sunday with the Airstream for my next set of adventures and life on the beloved Adirondack clock. It’s where the rubber meets the road as they say.Autumn in the Adirondacks. Nothing heavy there. I will be covering old ground and searching for new. There’s always something to discover that will charge my spirit batteries. The “A” in MOONTABS this time? Adventure!✍️

The Special Day

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4AM. I woke suddenly while having the most bizarre of dreams. In the dream I was standing on a pile of logging slash next to a house trying to figure how how to get down. The pile was huge and was made up of entire trees,evergreen limbs, and brush. The bark hung from the fallen trunks in shreds as a result of being dragged and knocked about. There was no order in the manner the pile had been arranged.It was if it had just been pushed in place by a huge machine that was no where around. There was a house beside the pile and I was thinking about how strange it all was getting. I started getting anxious because I couldn’t see a safe way down from the pile.Each direction looked the same. Dangerous. Weird as I have no fear of heights. I loved to climb trees on the farm as a boy. In the dream I turned in a slow motion circle. The devastation around the pile was disturbing. A huge clear cut of stumps and torn earth. A road of devastation had been carved out of a landscape that definitely wasn’t upstate New York. It resembled the Canadian bush to a degree but seemed different. The road was leading to a lake that was just beyond an untouched section of forest. The machine of destruction was out of sight but I knew where it was headed. I was afraid suddenly. I needed to get off the pile and run to the safety of the forest. And I knew what I needed to do. The fear left me and I got ready to jump off….Ok! Alrighty then! Wow! Dreams are strange! I wonder what Freud would find in that one!

I got up shortly after and reassured myself that all was well in Camp Edith. Gracie was lying next to the wood stove near the door to Zane’s room. All was well! I checked the fire and the large pieces of firewood that I had loaded in before bed last night had been reduced to glowing coals. One small piece of unburned wood sent out a wisp of smoke that assaulted my nose. I refueled the wood stove and headed for the Keurig.Destination numero uno! Ok it’s showtime! Busy day ahead! Lots to do today and there would be no time for writing. Too bad I thought because my creative hangover had been replaced by a familiar feeling. I was suddenly overcome with warmth! It had been a wonderful evening. A meal with Zane, small research projects, and conversations. A phone call.The Keurig finished brewing with its squishing sound that pushed out the final drops of morning rocket fuel. I dumped in an random shot of maple syrup. Followed by a healthy shot of half and half. Talk about a constant! My first fix of the day to satisfy an addiction of over thirty years. Just how did I get addicted in the first place? A different sort of story with a different connection to nature. Natural selection they call it.Not sharing that story today.

I headed back here to my cluttered bedroom to prop myself up against the headboard and started gulping my sweet brew. I really need to do something about this room I thought to myself. But how about a little music first? I knew what would set the mood. Andrew Belle. His music can bring me to tears! Yes tears! I once read that tears aren’t the measure of a man. I once mentioned that to Zane. I often dose a writing post with the phrase blood,sweat, and tears. It was like that on the farm. We had lots of livestock. Cows,horses,pigs,and chickens in a rotating cycle of farm life in harmony with season. There was the magic of birth. The time in between. Then the tough one.Death. These animals weren’t all pets. I learned things fast in those years although I never recognized it until years later. But that is the magic of discovery! Discovery doesn’t always wait out there beyond that next hill. It’s already there sometimes. Already inside us.Under our feet and already there in places of our heart rarely visited. Buried in our memories. Sometimes buried on purpose.A different story for a different day.

I learned the true kindness taking care of the livestock. They depended on us. Their needs came ahead of ours quite often on the farm where I had learned to climb trees with no fear and little regard for the danger of a fall. I guess I trusted my own hands and my balance. I am almost ready to jump back into the next chapter of my rural heritage series. I am waiting for something though. The day of autumn that stirs up certain memories and a special feeling.I can’t stage it or mark it on my calendar like some random event.It is a revolving event though that is tied into nature and always a new discovery in itself. Enter the familiar phrase: if only I could bottle that feeling and share it.Why do I write like I am creating a screenplay? Because all the world’s a stage they say. Not going there this morning!

I can safely say that my “special” day will fall sometime between mid October and late November. I will get a inner spirit call coming in from somewhere from an unknown number and I won’t let it go to voicemail. I will drop everything to answer it. I never know the time or exactly when my custom ringtone will chime. Many times the call comes as the sun is setting and a busy day of firewood cutting on the farm property ends. Tired and dirty as we put the tools away. The custom ringtone that is now set inside me originally came from miles above me. In the sound of distant goose cries as they begin their migration south.It is a sound that can span decades in the fraction of a second. Backtrack to a small younger me playing in the backyard with my sister at the first home I ever remember. I don’t remember every single detail but what I do remember is the feeling of excitement I got that long ago day when I spotted the first flock of the season. I can picture myself pointing to the sky and yelling to my sister! Geese! This was the 1960’s and geese didn’t frequent our section of the St. Lawrence valley all that much. They came from much further north stopping occasionally to rest and feed in the post harvest corn fields.A lover of the higher places at a young age although I didn’t know where that would eventually lead.I was being a kid and the forests of Tasmania were mere seedlings far in the future. I envied the geese their lofty status and wondered why they honked as they flew. Enter the Canadian goose and the stage was set for a grand performance.(to be continued)

Oh btw! It’s a special day indeed! Ironic given the title I chose!You are not going to believe what just happened!

I lost most of today’s post somehow! I had started it yesterday actually as a draft. I thought that I had it edited and published correctly. I went back several hours later to review my own work and was shocked to see what had actually uploaded. A total piece of something that had no rhythm nor reason. It dropped off in the middle of a sentence practically. What a disaster! So much of the once longer post is lost now! There’s some question as to what happened and why. The post was as heavy as a lead balloon but I was determined to try and fly it anyway due the amount of time I had spent on it! There must be a ghost in the machine! There’s only one possibility! A small mouse named Mr. Jangles! I know! I know it sounds crazy! You still are a little skeptical about Mr. Jangles and that whole story! Believe what you want! Ask Zane. He was there. After the post crashed I realized something. Mr. Jangles still wants to play! I don’t how he got the ghost virus into my tablet but it’s raising hell with everything! I know it’s him because of the photos and videos he hacked into my gallery. That one of me snoring? Horrible!So embarrassing and I am worried it may go viral!There’s also a cartoon version of himself that shows up like a screen saver and loops continually. His mouse laugh is creepy. He must have access to some sort of forest command post with satellite Wi-Fi and a backup generator. He’s pretty resourceful and I respect that about him! He hasn’t done anything serious yet I suppose. Unless you think destroying hours of my work is serious. And that notice from my bank that someone got in and tapped my checking account for a few hundred Canadian! I guess he’s just playing or he would have taken a lot more!I was mad at first and ready to go back up there tomorrow. But I don’t have time for that right now. I need to figure out a way to reverse hack him but he’s using someone else’s equipment somehow. I can picture him sitting hovered over someone’s laptop keypad.Hey it’s only a game right? I you know you get bored Mr. Jangles but how about a tv series or something. I can recommend one. I thought we were friends and I didn’t throw a fit over that last practical message joke of yours.

So here we are and I never got to finish my post. That’s ok as there’s always tomorrow!Just remember about the special day and the custom ringtone. Remember the farm property. Remember my promise to tell the stories of rural heritage. I keep my promises and tell the truth. Sure I have a big imagination. I told lots of true facts here. There is a mouse in Western Quebec. A cabin too and an actual Lake Dumoine.There was a big piece of blog post lost today. Can a mouse work a keyboard and understand passwords?Hack into someone’s system? Come to think of it I was missing some cash when I got back home last August. Maybe Mr. Jangles has a helper he pays. He can read as we already know. It’s difficult to say really.. ✍️

3 AM: Introductions To The Ever Changing Me

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The wind woke me up early this morning and I got up to check the wood stove here at Camp Edith. Aka Camp Chaos when I come in off the road and unload the car. It seems strange to think that I even needed to have the wood stove lit but yesterday afternoon a strong north born wind turned the surface of the lake upside down. The temperatures began to drop and a quick look at the weather on my phone told me what my body already knew. Good thing that I keep an adequate supply of dry wood on hand. The days of living here are winding down now and I will soon be winterizing it once again.

I have considered turning Camp Edith into a full time residence but something always holds me back. There’s a certain charm to its rustic rafters. Darkened by years of exposure they are a constant of seasonal cottage living. It’s similar to the feeling I got years ago when I briefly considered retiring the old sugar house at the farm and building a new one. How awesome I had thought! All new and fresh. Straightly framed with electricity and running water. But the old sugar house has a certain dignity in its sagging presence. And what of the history and the memories that fill the air with invisible energy within its tired walls? The cracked concrete soaked by blood, sweat, and tears. It’s the same here in the cottage. The inner voice speaks wisely many times. Change can wait with certain things. There is no hurry or least there shouldn’t be sometimes. “Nature does not hurry, but all is accomplished.” Lao Tzu

Quotes are a productive medium of creativity for me. I look for them constantly and even have a few of my own. So it should come as no surprise that I love this one! “3 AM is the hour of writers, painters,poets,musicians,silent seekers,over thinkers,and creative people.” Do you recognize anyone in that group that you know? This week has been a very productive one for writing! I came in off the road late last Thursday night a little burned out and very tired. After a bit of work on the side project over the weekend I was shot. But nature saved the day! The days of rain that began Sunday kept me inside and the words found me in the early hours Monday. By late yesterday I had finished the first series of bush living stories. As I relived the days we spent there I entered a special place. The “well” Zone. My photos and simple cabin journal pulled it all together. But there were other forces responsible and they launched me past all that had previously been holding me under. The daily Abraham-Hicks inspirational quotes that chime onto my email each day had been trying to tell me something.The term is manifestation and with it I followed the energy trail of bread crumbs to a place of many words.Some things happen for a reason. Enter the surge and the geyser.The well wasn’t dry.It was just plugged. The last few days drained the well and I am experiencing a creative hangover. It’s been quite the journey these past nine days. Living on the ADK clock. Leaving the ADK clock behind for a moment. And then experiencing the surge. Things are ramping up and I find myself adding lines to the story Escape Velocity as a side project.

It’s amazing how long it takes me to write a few simple lines into that I feel is good! I invest a considerable amount of time poking around in the digital dictionary and searching for descriptive words. There are over 170,000 words in the Oxford English dictionary. Impressive and it offers a unique challenge. The word MOONTABS will never enter those hallowed pages but it means something that can’t be described by a simple sentence in a dictionary. It confuses people sometimes actually. People ask what does the “A” represent? One answer I give is that it created a flowing word that is easy to say in English. Call the “A” a silent bridge that crosses a deep chasm. In the process of creating a private domain it nice to discover that word wasn’t used or even existed. At the time the word was born I was drawing heavily on memories that I was expressing in my written work. I was trying to humbly acknowledge the importance of recognizing my genuine journey and story. Capitalizing on memories it was a short stretch of imagination to create the remaining letters. I was going through a period of reinventing myself after the events of 2017. I realized certain things could be lost or taken without warning but never our memories. Our personal memories are ours alone. The good,bad,and the ugly. (Good movie!) I found something profound in that realization. There something more though that dealt with a deeper place of realization. How does one blend painful memories with good ones? The name doesn’t imply only good memories. So what about those painful memories? I remembered something nature had taught me. Storms were always battering the trees sometimes knocking them down but they had evolved to bend. There’s a place of strength and resilience there.So too with memories. We must learn to bend in our acceptance I feel.That’s a powerful place of mental focus. Not all the branches survive that’s for sure. When I get the short story “The Trees And Us” published we can walk that littered path together. Yes I know! The promised book. Did you forget the Lao Tzu quote already?

There are deeper meanings in the word MOONTABS. I couldn’t make it too simple or it wouldn’t best represent the vision I had for it. The moon represented something significant to me. The moon undergoes a monthly transformation. It radiates an energy that is mysterious even if science offers all the answers as they claim. It’s that energy thing again. That place I always return to wander and search for answers. A full moon lights the way for unique adventures and much more. It is a destination for passion and romantic muses.Not everyone sees the same thing in the moonlight. That’s what makes us individuals with our own personalities. So moon was perfect. Here we are four years later and I never explained my own word properly. It wasn’t the time for things to manifest themselves I guess.So during this busy writing week the question of the “A” came at me from a new direction. I began to dissect the word into pieces and discovered something amazing! Something that was unexpected and priceless! Tabs. Usually associated with technology these days or music right? But a deeper dictionary dig reveals a less used meaning! Tabs can also mean close surveillance. To watch. To single out or designate. I was blown away! All this time it had escaped me. I am going to head out into the wilds of Tasmania and sit quietly while I contemplate that one. MOONTABS is about connections to nature and looking for them. Watch, single out, and surveillance. It’s there in my own word. Oh by the way! It’s your word too! I mentioned that a long time ago.

I am headed to the farm property today to ditch my creative hangover with some fresh air. I hope to realign my spirit energy and do some inner battery charging. Autumn 2022 is here and I wish to capture some the transition on the farm before I head back to the Adks. A thought came to me this week. A plausible explanation of something else. If the “A” is not meant to have one descriptive word associated with it or one meaning then there was a reason why that happened. Just as there are many unexplained reasons why any multitude of things happen. Coincidence, circumstance, or something beyond our understanding of the now. So the “A” can be whatever you want it to be. It’s your personal invitation to hide your secret and special word into my journey. Our journey as it is truly not mine alone. The fun times and stories that make up the MOONTABS are diverse at times. As am I. Continued introductions are how I seek to emphasize my personal growth or lack there of when I stall out. Either way it’s meant to keep me real to my readers. It’s a place of elemental honesty. Failure is as noteworthy as success and should never be kept out of journey if the portrait is to be genuine.

BTW! Mr. Jangles left me a note in my luggage! Tiny droppings.A gift that traveled 400 miles and crossed the border. I guess he didn’t know how to write me a note any other way. Goodbyes are hard for him apparently. There’s a lot buried in those tiny, nasty droppings. Mr. Jangles is a heavy over thinker it appears. In every gross dropping was a message to me! They read like this as I fished them out of my duffle bag: #1 Hey buddy do you miss me? #2 Are you coming back? #3 No hard feelings trying to kill me. I forgive you!#4 You can’t beat me anyway you know! Give it up pal! #5 If you do come back please bring more of those delicious peanut butter cookies! Yum! #6 Yes I will be careful! Thx for caring!God I hate owls!Hooting all night when I am trying to sleep. #7 Those other mice weren’t my family. Quite the story there. Sometimes I have been lost in this world with just my quick wits, passion for life, and my love of fun adventure to keep me moving forward. That’s ok because getting lost leads me to new places. And new and exciting possibilities.I always count the many blessings bestowed on me.I believe in the future. And that belief will always drive me to live my best life.And you thought being me was simple. Silly you!.#8 Just wanted you know how fun it all was! Most campers are boring so I ignore them.#9 Oh by way that fleece hoodie of yours that I chewed up made a super bed! Sorry about! I have teeth that keep growing just so you know! #10 Do you realize how long it took me to chew through that bathroom floor? BTW! I didn’t chew through that hot water line! It was those other ones!#11 I know you are wondering. How did I know that the cookies were peanut butter? Winter is a drag so I taught myself how to read from some old magazines before I chewed them up. National Geographic was my favorite! Especially the pictures.Sure would love to spend the winter in Florida! It’s cold here! #12 I don’t want hurt your feelings but this MOONTABS thing you guys were talking about. I don’t get it. Oh you better check that MOONTABS shirt! I really needed to pee! Sorry!#13 Best wishes my friend! I hope you find what you keep searching for! Enjoy the Great Wander and chasing the buzz! Be it on rock, water, or sky. I will send positive energy across the miles! We made a connection! One more thing! I am not old so don’t call me that! Premature gray runs in my family. I’m more Mus than Muridae so please correct that!Our story isn’t finished. Peace out! Mr. Jangles

Can you even imagine? 13 droppings in my duffle bag! The nerve of that rodent! Yes you deserve that Mr. Jangles! That was my favorite hoodie and a Northface at that! 😡 This is a true story folks! Mr. Jangles is very real! These things really happened! I intend to visit him next August.You can’t make this stuff up! Out on the big lake known as Dumoine life continues without us and things continue to add up as they seem to do there. Mr. Jangles lives out his simple life and continues to fight for survival. I suppose we all do in some capacity. Until then I better check my belongings over because there may be more messages left there!It seems like forever until we return but time moves quickly these days. How how will I fill my days and nights until that fateful August week arrives? Outside and seeking new adventures. Exploring beyond that distant horizon.Inside researching and fact checking.Looking for the paths less traveled. Tapping the keys and tapping into my mind. Many stories remain to be told.The question of the next adventure is never if but when. I pray for strength and good health to bring me there and back. I leave you with portions of a Wally Byam quote that truly says it all. I find myself between its lines and it empowers me to live as never before. I mentioned it in another post and I have a personal connection to it. “Don’t stop.Keep right on going…go someplace you’ve heard about…Find out what’s at the end of some country road. Go see what’s over the next hill,and the one after that,and the one after that.” I’ll let you know when I hear from Mr. Jangles. Maybe I can take him to Florida next year.🤔✍️

Bush Days:The Balance Is Struck

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Today is a special for those closely connected to nature. The annual fall equinox. Equinox in Latin means equal night. That place of equal darkness and daylight. It’s always worthy of acknowledging I feel. This the first day of autumn. Nature didn’t wait for this day to start the transition though. It’s been underway for several weeks as summer days wound down. It’s easy to get too busy and miss things at times. But I had noticed. The small details of an impending autumn. As autumn arrived in 2021 I posted The Transition. My thoughts of autumn still hang there like leaves on a tree. I read it this equinox morning and found something in my own words. Nothing has changed in nature. It’s predictable here in a four season part of the world. Solid as a rocky summit. My life certainly continues to change. I draw strength from that in a complex study of time and existence. Nature will light the way once again with beautiful colors and a magical transition. The transformation I also call it. I will be returning to the Adirondacks soon to reflect as I assemble pieces to a bigger puzzle. It’s time to explore some new ground.I dedicate this post to a good friend who is fighting a battle.He likes heavy music. The band Breaking Benjamin song Down says a part of what I am trying to move past this morning. “Oh light carry me over the ground. Heavy won’t hold me down”.Got your back Bro! How ironic the equinox. Equal darkness and light today. But it’s time to get back to the bush. And run wild there in the light.

We woke up Tuesday in our home away from home bush cabin full of expectation. It was our final full day on the lake. We hit the water early fully stocked with water and snacks. The fishing was more for numbers at this point. We had cracked the 194 walleye record on Monday. Greg was talking a lot about returning in 2023 despite the minor but inconvenient problems with the cabin. The big variable would be our choice of a cabin. We had scouted the locations of some of the other cabins during the week to decide what would be our best fit. There were still numerous areas of the lake we hadn’t explored. It’s that big! We had decided on Monday that we would explore a southern finger of the lake after the morning fish. Raspberry Point was close to the unexplored section so it was a logical choice. We were wanting to find Cabin 3 to see if it was a possible 2023 destination. Typical of most mornings we were the only people out on the lake. I feel small in those moments in a wonderful manner! Big water. Big forest. Big skies. And a sudden provocative thought by me who had considered for a nanosecond tossing technology overboard: bring a drone next time. The vastness could be captured in a far different perspective than my words. Or better yet a mix of both! Or to really up the ante a triple dip. Words, drone footage, and a live presentation! Enter the challenge. Imagine bringing that to someone who had always dreamed of doing something like that but hadn’t. I know a guy! Time had run out and now he just couldn’t. A true explorer and adventurer himself but unable physically to make the trip these days. What an ultimate gift to give to a man who had inspired me greatly in so many ways. He told me once I needed to follow my heart with my writing and get it in gear. He’s here in the blog posts if you wish to ferret him out.

We were anxious to explore so we cut the morning fish short and headed south into the unknown. I was cognitive of our isolation and was being super cautious.Polarized sunglasses are a necessity when exploring bush waters. If you wear them sunken shoals and obstacles show up brown in the dark water long before you get to them. Not always though. It depends on the day. My depth finder doesn’t work well when we reach a certain speed. The cavitation messes with it. Note to self: get a better one! But the thrill of searching new territory supersedes any hesitation. Best not to let the mind wander. That’s actually a good thing.You don’t think of things like going home or all the responsibilities waiting there. The moment is all about safety and focus. We left a big open section of water behind and entered a section where my stomach churned with a mix of apprehension and excitement.Numerous small clusters of bare rocks jutting out from the points of small islands. I throttled way down and we probed our way into a section of bays with sandy beaches. We consulted the map briefly and tried to figure out how to reach Cabin 3. We decided that it must lie behind a long narrow peninsula to the left of the bow. I pushed back out into a larger section of open water and throttled back up. We rounded the peninsula and spotted a beach that begged cabin site. Yup! There it was! The person or persons who had decided to build here had chosen wisely. I tried to imagine what it must have been like to have been those people. To see the possibilities and set a plan into motion. The metric tons of work involved. The logistics of getting the materials into the bush. The logging roads we had traveled hadn’t always been there Eric later told me. Bush planes had been the norm. This entire lake had once been a fly in destination. The work they had accomplished was impressive and must have taken a lot of time.

We cautiously entered the bay that led to the cabin. I trimmed the motor up manually as I had done so often during the week and we eased towards. There were several strange looking groups of rock that seemed unnatural. As we approached them we realized that they were the remains of dock cribs.In some distant time there had been some sort of elaborate docking system here. The cabin looked deserted like no one had been there in awhile. A strange feeling came over me then. The deserted cabin and dock remains had a story behind them. We beached the boat and stepped onto a sandy beach with no human tracks on its surface. The area behind the beach was littered with old pieces of dock. Weathered and untouched for some time it appeared. There was a large deck missing it’s steps. It was entering a ghost town.The grass was long and weeds covered what had once been a yard. There was a leaning water platform similar to our cabin set up but much higher. There was no ridge to place the tanks on so the builder had built a tower. Still standing but a little tired. We entered the bush cabin because we knew it wasn’t occupied by any party of fisherman. There are never any locks on bush cabins. We follow the unwritten rules of bush etiquette. Never enter an occupied cabin without permission and respect others privacy. The cabin obviously hadn’t been occupied in awhile. There were signs of rodents everywhere. I thought about Mr. Jangles and doubted that he would like this cabin. Slim pickings and no humans to keep him company. No games of cat and mouse so it would be most boring for him. After all he was no ordinary rodent.In fact the term rodent was a bit below him. He was best represented by the word Muridae. It speaks of family and belonging to a higher order. It spoke of history and painful evolution. Nature at its finest moment. And what gives me the right to judge any life form? We as humans consider ourselves the God Species.Gods of arrogance perhaps. Best exit that unstable ground. More importantly was my twisted relationship with Mr. Jangles! I was ready for another round with him. I politely told Zane that he was out of the game. It wasn’t fair two on one! Funny the thoughts that were triggered stepping into that cabin 3.

The place had been rather nice once.Big for a bush cabin and on a remote part of the lake. With a good cleaning crew it could be brought back to life. The roof seemed intact and it was very well furnished. We pinched a nice cooking pot since our cabin lacked one. That’s bush life survival we adopted in 2016 when our outfitter didn’t provide us with everything they promised. Wrong maybe but we needed things and had no way to get them. I called it raiding and Zane loved it! I told him we were like Vikings storming a beach! We weren’t stealing since everything belonged to the same outfitter. We had found two abandoned cabins and helped ourselves to the firewood woodsheds. Our cabin woodshed had been totally empty and the nights were cold. We pinched a piece of cookware that time also. Shame on them and us! That is quite another story. Very real and a happy memory. Pure bush country MOONTABS.

We wrote cabin 3 off after that and headed back onto the lake. Eric was coming to fix the plumbing after brunch. We explored a few hidden coves before heading back. There was so much of it out there! I had hoped to explore the outlet of the lake. The map shows a set of rapids. I love waterfalls and whitewater. But there was no time for it. Greg had been clever this time around! He had brought his gps unit along and had our route mapped out. I simply followed the course it had plotted and we had full throttle cruising with no fear of sunken shoals. To think that I had considered throwing the technology overboard! Was I crazy? I do struggle with my own lemming like race into technology’s embrace sometimes. It’s recorded on these pages that live in the cloud. We are getting dangerously close to Tazmania and I would rather be cruising the lake.

The ride back was uneventful and beautiful like always. We were all thinking about leaving tomorrow I knew but we were dodging it like a squirrel crossing a busy road. The scenery drew me back into the now where I knew I was supposed to be. There was still time. And what a trip! Eric showed up shortly after we finished brunch and found the problem with the shower valve. It was plugged from debris that had collected in the gravity tanks. I liked Eric and envied his laid approach to everything even if I didn’t agreed with his idea of maintenance. But his true character was about to show itself in his disregard for convention and love of a lifestyle far from modern society. I volunteered to go help him with the leaks under the cabin. I used the opportunity to grill him with questions and soon began to build out the puzzle. The events of 2020 had really thrown the business into a tailspin. He obviously loved his girls and needed to provide for his family. 70 percent of their business had been lost over the last two years but he was counting his blessings still. Maintenance had taken the backseat by necessity. They don’t own the lake or the land. They pay an annual lease of some magnitude. He’s made it 25 years since the previous owner. I enjoyed hearing his honest testimony. Not complaining just accepting the reality. I asked him about the fish that were in the deep section of the lake. I asked if anyone ever caught lake trout here. Years ago he said but rarely now although a fellow had caught a 17 pound one a couple years back. We had been there a week and had seen very few people at all. We never saw anyone fishing for trout period.My mind began to percolate with possibilities. Things were continuing to add up.

We still hadn’t paid for trip yet and Eric hadn’t even mentioned it. We asked if they took credit cards but they weren’t set up for that. We had wondered about paying so we had brought fat stacks of Canadian money. Eric didn’t know that yet though. He said that he would tally up our bills right then and there. You can wire me the money when you return to the states he calmly stated. Talk about trust! They had never even asked for a deposit in the first place. His comment gave me pause for reflection. Such trust in these modern times! We said no worries we brought cash just in case! At the table he wrote up our bills and then turned it over to us. Sorry for all the problems with the cabin he said. I tweaked your bill. Is this amount ok? Greg and I took a quick glance then said absolutely! He had been totally fair. I then asked him the big question that I had been mulling on after discussions with my companions. How many people would we need to rent the big cabin 6? Four would seal the deal Eric said with no hesitation in his voice and no deliberation. A shock as it can accommodate over 12. I told Eric that we would discuss things and let him know.We had toured cabin 6 earlier in the week before the gun toting party crew had arrived. I immediately liked the size of it and it’s log cabin construction. Someone had taken pride in the building and it was still in pretty good shape. The ice house was adjacent to it as well. Enter another new character: Raquel. She was cleaning the cabin with one of Eric’s daughters the day we met her. On vacation herself and helping out. She was smoking on a cigarette and sipping a hard seltzer while she gave us a tour. I got a little of her story. She worked in a location that I won’t mention to respect her privacy. She fished with Eric’s girls and helped take care of them. She was French but spoke excellent English. I could hear the accent in her voice. I liked her friendly openness and hospitality letting us tour the cabin. After we left I asked Greg and Zane what they thought of cabin.They both thought it was nice. I said that I thought it was an upgrade from our cabin most certainly. We spoke of it occasionally throughout the remainder of the week.

We all enjoyed the newly functioning shower after Eric departed. Strange to think that all commuting here was by boat. I hadn’t missed driving a vehicle or had even thought about it to any degree. And just like that the day ticking forward. We decided to skip our naps and go all the way down to the outfitter’s landing. We would go right to the evening fishing locations immediately after. Our phones were all but dead. Our battery backup units were dead. We needed a generator to get things charged back up. It was a nice cruise although we hit some chop on the way while cruising the big open section where days before we had battled the storm. We recognized much of the landscape now. The familiar sight of Garbage Island rising straight up out a deep section of the lake. We had history here now. No longer greenhorns of the lake. Our walleye count was at an impressive 211! Greg was so far in the lead at this point the competition was over for Zane and I. But we all knew that it had taken a team effort to reach the count. What a week! And there was still time! The motor hummed with steady rhythm and I was awash in brilliant sunshine enjoying my surrender to the bush.

We arrived at the landing and cautiously approached the small house greeted again by the old grumpy dog. He was very protective of the girls and although I love dogs I never tried to pet him. Eric’s daughter came out to see what we wanted. We got set up for charging and learned that we could jump onto their Wi-Fi. The messages started dinging across phones as we reentered the modern world. Greg got word out to his wife on my phone as he had no service in Canada. I sent my sister a brief message letting her know that I was alive. I had a message from my foreman in Lake Placid. Enter the impending return to reality. Zane contacted his mom and just like that we were much closer to our lives back home. Raquel showed up by boat and I asked her if cabin 6 was available next August. She consulted the hand written booking journal and asked for a date. August 11th I decided after checking my phone calendar. And to think I had considered throwing my technology overboard! It’s open Raquel said. I asked Greg what he thought but he wasn’t sure that he wanted to decide so quickly. I mentioned that we should decide then or we might not get the booking. I knew both he and Zane were eager to return. They just needed a small nudge. Cabin 6 was open for the dates we wanted so I asked Raquel how much it would cost to reserve it. $100/person was needed. Raquel said we could send it after we got back to the states. I said I’ve got it right here! $300 Canadian that I don’t need back in the states. So just like that it was done! We would be returning in 2023. There was a comfort in that moment that’s difficult to put into words but I have a good idea what I was reaching for with impulsive reckless. Hope. That good health and good fortune would bring us all back to this special place with others whom we wanted to share it with. And me the pensive one felt something else. A chill below my happy surface. Too many times life had happened with no warning. Changed everything in the blink of an eye. Someday I will share portions of the story Escape Velocity. Written in May of 2018 it was as deep a place as I ever dove as a lover of words. I never finished it. It wasn’t meant to be finished I suppose. How do you finish what has just begun? But the sun was too warm for chills to linger long that afternoon.Inside or out. It was time to move past the brambles that scratch at hope.

We headed back towards the fishing spot and I took a slightly different route to mess with Greg. I knew that he’d notice eventually and I was full of mischief. Ile Quabie is massive and in my mind I had it all mapped out. This isn’t right Greg suddenly said! Really? I feigned ignorance. He caught onto my treachery when the familiar sight of Raspberry appeared with startling clarity. I privately reveled in the strength of my inner compass. It’s always been there for me.My imagination likes to think that I have some special connection to the magnetic poles. Probably it but I do know one thing thing. My compass does love to pull north.Someday I intend to head up beyond the trees all the way to Hudson Bay. I suppose my compass pulls in all four directions at once sometimes. That’s tricky.

Greg ruled the last evening of fishing although Zane and I did well. We had reached the point where we couldn’t keep any walleye so we were throwing everything back. Under sized fish were known as throwbacks. Sometime during the week Greg and Zane had started calling them “Becksteads”. In reference to a fellow colleague that Greg and I worked with years ago. (New character enter and exit). The walleye were turned on in a feeding frenzy and we were racing through our remaining bait. There came the time of the last worm. Zane got it and hooked a walleye with it. In the process of Greg netting it for him the worm dropped into the water where it began to slowly sink. I made a daring leap from my seat and made what’s know as a glove save. Wow! Greg was shaking his head and called me crazy! Didn’t go overboard though! I was down to my last leech just as it was turning dusk when I felt a huge weight on my line. I set the hook and the fight was on! The biggest one I had hooked for the trip! But it shook free without breaking my line. I was pretty bummed for awhile after that but forgot about it as we headed back watching yet another beautiful sunset. No two were ever the same. This was the final night! We settled into the evening routine a little later then usual and sat around the table while Greg tallied up the fish count. We had a combined catch of 240 walleye! A mix of keepers and Becksteads and an impressive catch on new water. We weren’t expecting any visitors but one showed up unannounced!

I was sitting in my usual spot at the end of the table when Greg nodded his head towards the stove. There he was! Mr. Jangles! But a shiver ran down my spine and I was frozen in my seat by what I was seeing! Mr. Jangles was hard at work trying to get an old smear of peanut butter from the trigger of one of the mouse traps! I hadn’t sprung them but I hadn’t baited them either. Greg thought it was funny but I watched in horror as he continued to feed. Mr. Jangles was a true master of stripping a trap. He was nonchalantly oblivious to the danger that he was in. I was worried that if I startled him it would spell disaster. He worked carefully though I soon realized. Like a safe cracker working the dial of a vault. His tiny whiskers accented his face perfectly. He had a look of elderly class. Well groomed with shiny fur unlike the other mice that had been killed early on . His eyes were small but intelligent and he made eye contact with me for a moment. Careful Mr. Jangles! Focus! It seemed like an eternity but he suddenly stepped off the trap and headed across the kitchen floor. To my great relief he ignored the other trap. Zane was headed out of the bathroom and was eager to engage Mr. Jangles but I ordered him to stand down. He obeyed my orders and Mr. Jangles disappeared into the bathroom. We never saw him again and I later regretted not trying to strike up a truce by offering him some peanut butter with crackers. Why did I surrender to Mr.Jangles? That’s tough to explain but I will take a stab at it. Perhaps I grew to respect his knack for survival. His reckless behavior. His almost playful and social demeanor. His energy of purpose when chewing through the cabin walls. A bush mouse has numerous predators. They come from all directions.Birds of prey by day and night. Weasels and mink by ground. Foxes too if they inhabit that part of the bush. A mouse’s life is short.Especially if it enters a human dwelling. Why is this so important or impressive to me? At this point in life I have developed a knack for survival. I was once reckless. I am playful and full of energy. As for predators in human society they too exist. Human not animal. Mr. Jangles shares survival with us. It’s just a different type. I see the connections to nature everywhere. They need time to show themselves on occasion. As for the mice in my farm warehouse destroying everything? Sorry! No surrender!

So we are almost at the end of this fabulous week in the Quebec bush! But it’s never over till it’s over as they say! Especially not with my companions. We had our final fish fry but not before having a campfire happy hour on the beach. We talked about 2023 and what things needed to be added to our packing lists. We had been adding to them all week. It would be time in 2023 for classic 6 “Ps” doctrine. “Proper preparation prevents piss poor performance”. I have huge plans for 2023! A generator and Keurig coffee maker. Tools and repair items. Extra phone battery backups. Who knows what else. A satellite phone would be nice. That drone set up too. Vlogging kit along for the ride. And me who had considered throwing technology overboard! We’ll be introducing some new characters we hope and checking up on some old ones. My chill had been beaten back by all that was possible. It seemed funny as we went to our bunks that we would be sleeping back home the next night. I had taken the mouse traps out of commission. We packed quickly the next morning after coffee and breakfast. Eric had dropped off a second boat for us Tuesday night because we still had to hoss a lot of freight even though we had used most of our supplies. We did the dishes,swept up, and took out our garbage. Leave no trace principles inside.We loaded our boats carefully and took a last look around. As we were leaving Zane and I were overcome by laughter that hurt. Greg couldn’t get his boat started and it was so hilarious watching him! We laughed so hard we had to move away from him! He got his motor going eventually and made it out into deeper water but stalled out. Being a team player we headed over to help him.Not! Being who we are we approached him at full speed and turned suddenly hitting his boat with a huge wake! More laughter till our sides hurt! Greg got going and decided to retaliate in kind. It was on! Bush lake chicken fights! Our heavy boat was no match for Greg’s but he was a good sport and hit us with numerous wakes. It was the perfect way to end the trip! Full of life and making the most of every moment possible. We settled into the long ride back but encountered some heavy waves in the biggest section of the lake. It was cool and cloudy when we reached the beach and said goodbyes to the family. We loaded the truck and gave the girls a tip for helping us. As I stood there I said a silent blessing to the sky. May we return to this beautiful and special lake. May this family survive all obstacles and their business survive as well. May we be blessed to return together… I don’t think that I have ever left a bush camp without being changed in some manner. I would think of this place often and picture it as we left it. The drive out was long and uneventful. We stopped on a large bridge above a place Eric called a walleye spawning sanctuary. In the spring when the ice leaves the lakes their glowing eyes number in the thousands at night. That is the draw here. The walleye and the hunt for them each day. But something larger finds us there. I have told you what it meant to me. The bonds we made together can not be broken now. It happened. We made it real and fun. I grew as a father and as a friend. I experienced something familiar in a new location. Back in the valley someone will always ask: why waste all that money and go so far? We have walleye right here. I nod my head and say yes! You are right! Then walk away to hide my knowing smile!Not everyone charges their spirit battery the same way! MOONTABS aren’t for everyone.✍️

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We wrote

Surrendering To The Bush

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This is the fifth post of the Canadian bush series. Initially it was going to be a single post but I decided that there was a much bigger story. I left a lot of myself between the lines.And openly in the lines. Consider it the driftwood of life. I’ve written of driftwood on other occasions. I am a collector of driftwood actually. It speaks to me of nature’s power. There is a shallow sandy beach in the Adirondacks where sunken driftwood lies in rippled sand. On sunny days under gently lapping waves it appears with mesmerizing clarity. I wade there sometimes collecting small pieces that catch my eye. It’s a wonderful place to relax and reflect. Perception and imagination wait just below the surface to be discovered. The sandy sections of beaches on Lake Dumoine were littered with driftwood. In these posts I set my personal driftwood of life afloat there for you to discover. You’ll never need to dig below my surface. I want you to know certain things. And perhaps see what I see in those tiny weathered pieces of time. I hope you find a greater connection to nature there.

Monday morning arrived with the precision of routine firmly established. We were settled in and truly having a wonderful time. Running free with renewed spirit energy I felt. My companions might have their own words for how they felt. Greg was firmly ahead in the competition in the remaining two categories. Zane was becoming intent on the total number of walleye caught. We got up and there was zero visibility on the lake. A heavy fog covered everything and the boat was almost invisible at the end of the dock. No worries right? We know the lake now! It was cool and we all were decked out in heavy rain gear as we left the dock. The motor was a little sluggish and had started harder then usual. It was impossible to see very far in front of the boat and my eyes began to feel strained almost immediately. I tried running the center of the finger that made up our portion of the lake. I couldn’t see the trees or anything else I used for navigation. We never thought to bring Greg’s gps unit at the time. He had loaded it with fishing locations and it plots courses automatically. We sure could have used it! I did fairly well at first navigating the initial finger but we soon entered one of the larger sections of the lake. Fog in all directions! I grabbed one vague shoreline glimpse and pointed in the direction I felt was right. I kept the throttle cracked full on. Nothing dangerous there. The 15 horsepower motor doesn’t push us along all that fast especially with three good sized guys in the boat! On a side note I would have to mention how happy I was with the four stroke Yamaha engine. Easy to operate and super efficient on gas. We hadn’t used much gas given the miles we were covering each day. I did all the driving and my two companions were thrilled with that. Conversation was difficult when underway even though the motor wasn’t all that loud. Combined with the wake noise and the noise of the boat itself conversation at the stern of the craft wasn’t happening. I plenty of time for thinking while driving and I enjoyed those private moments.

I knew it was about 4 miles to our destination and that a large expanse of unbroken water needed to crossed. My eyes were really feeling the strain by this time. Off on the eastern horizon the sun was getting brighter but the land masses remained in gray shadows. My internal compass told me Ile Quabie should show itself shortly. It’s a huge island that dominates a southern section of the lake. We were searching for Raspberry Point on the eastern side on it. Suddenly I spotted a land mass off to my right and slowed our forward progress. It looked familiar but much of the lake shoreline looks the same. Rocky with the forest coming right down to the water. You can’t just stop anywhere on Lake Dumoine and exit your boat. The broken glacial rocks of the shorelines are uninviting. They are a risky proposition. Out alone with no rescue plan in effect you protect your hull and motor propeller as if your life depends on it. None of us relished ever needing to spent a night on shore or trying to row back to camp. Those thoughts weighed heavily on my common sense rather often to be blatantly honest. But we were somewhat prepared for emergency. Lighters and flashlights. Some water and knives. Snacks and almost always fish that could have been cooked on shore. A plan for future trips began to percolate in the recesses of my mind. Enter the lists jotted down in our personal camp journal.A book in itself. A story within a story. To plan to return to the bush is the story of hope itself. That place of dreams and drive. Hold that thought and I will return there. The forest that is the bush itself is thick and lush. It’s wild and beautiful The sandy bays and sections of beach offer better opportunities. In fact all of the cabins we had seen were built up above sandy beaches. This beautiful place was a hidden gem of many facets. It caught the light from every angle. Lost in a fog? No concern of mine.

As I slowed the boat and neared what I believed was Raspberry Point I suddenly realized that something was amiss! That island feature sure did look like Raspberry Point! But that rock shouldn’t be there. Nor that line of rocks that created a shoal. Ok! Time to stop and regroup. None of us recognized our location but I can’t say I was anything more then confused. The sun was rising even higher by the minute and it was only matter of time before the fog lifted. But the morning walleye fishing window would be closed by then. It was the perfect walleye morning. Walleye chop and cooler temperatures. I consulted the map then handed it to my companions. Greg and I couldn’t reach an agreement as to our location. I gazed through the murk and my internal compass found the bearings suddenly. I engaged the gears and said here we go! I got this one! I wasn’t entirely sure at first as we sped along side of what I knew had to be Ile Quabie. The sun had turned the trick of location and realigned the compass. And just like that Raspberry Point showed itself and we were back on track. This was to be Zane’s morning to shine and show his walleye skills.

Greg is definitely the best walleye fisherman of the three of us. His jigging techniques and choice of colors had assured his standing. My leeches keep Zane and I in the standings. Jigging has never my strong suit. Greg had given Zane one of his jigs that was rocking the boat. He then coached him with his technique. Zane already had a good jigging technique and had proved himself in 2016 at the Quebec lake known as Echouani. He had taken the prize of catching the most walleye.With my help and guidance I suppose but the credit became all his. Some nights his skill with the rod would amaze me! My catch would suffer as I netted fish after fish for him. But I was the clear winner of fatherly pride as I lived those treasured moments with my son. I can’t tell the whole story now or the story of Echouni in 2015 when he took his first ever bush trip. Magic lives in my son’s fingertips. Be it fishing rod or in his guitar these days.

Monday morning was all Zane’s. He was dialed in and his jigging was productive. He took the morning count easily. Greg and I were happy for him! I was off and missed multiple fish. But my mind wasn’t on fishing. It was lost in small details of nature. An eagle put in a brief appearance for the second time that week. The sun and lifting fog were beautiful. Although I was trying to block it out I knew Tuesday was our final day of bush living. My companions spoke of it too. But there was still time to run wild and free. Age means nothing in those moments for me. We were all equals on the lake. Far from the expectations of modern life and society. Far from technology even though we had it in our hands. As crazy as it sounds there were moments when I wanted to toss everything associated with technology overboard in some strange gesture of rebellion. But it would pollute the lake and a blogger needs technology. Let me think on that one.I think harmony is the best word for what my companions and I were feeling. We all felt something powerful. The energy radiated in laughter and excitement. Enter the surrender. I had surrendered to the power of the moment. The now. If only. If only I could bottle that moment and share it.It was nothing new to me this buzz of nature and experience. It had found me many times over the years. And the words I so often repeat: I will chase it forever!

Monday post morning fishing presented us with a new and pressing problem. The routine went well until Greg went to shower. Zane had his first and all had gone well. Greg was not so fortunate however. It seems the hot water side of the mixing valve was not functioning. He got a rather cold shower and he was not happy! Not good for me either as I was last in line. Why of showers in the first place? First and foremost not all bush camps even them. Or flush toilets and running water.Bathing in the lake is an option with consequences in most of the bush lakes I fished. The wonderfully clean water holds a predator other than walleye! Bloodsuckers! I hate getting them on me! So no lake bath for me! I chose to tackle the water issue head on. The ridge gravity tanks were full and everything else worked but the hot water knob of the shower. I crawled under the cabin looking for potential problems. Found one! Wait two! Leaks in the hot water lines! Small but enough to cause a problem perhaps. Guess we now why the propane ran out. Hot water was leaking out 24/7. I’m sure Eric had no clue and it appeared rodents might the root of the issue. I knew the mouse escaped under the bathroom when we pursued it. There was nothing we could find that we could fix at any rate. Not given our lack of tools. I took a cold shower and my demeanor was threatening to spoil the happy feelings of the morning. We headed out early that afternoon to contact Eric for assistance. Rewards are always waiting there for us when we least expect them. It was mostly clear as we cruised the finger on our mission to find Eric. By now the lake shore was familiar. We were running the center of the finger in the safety of the deep water. I noticed something in a small cove off to left that resembled a brown stone. I thought to myself that’s strange! I don’t remember that rock out out in the bay. My “ rock” moved and the calm surface of the water exploded! My rock further appeared from under the surface and I realized it was a cow moose! I throttled down and yelled to my companions! The moose didn’t want to have its picture taken though and burst out of the shallows on a dead run. It crossed the beach quickly and hesitated for a moment. It looked over its shoulder before racing off into the forest. Just like that and no one saw but me. We found Eric out on the lake and flagged him down. He said he would come up by the next morning at the latest. We were ok with that as we wanted to get out for the evening fish.

The evening fish once again proved the worth of the lake. Zane and I continued to add to our take home count. Greg carried the night and we were now tossing back walleye that would make some fisherman cringe. I was still off though catching fish. Not concentrating. I wasn’t concerned though. My numbers were solid and we had fish enough for the last two nights of frying. One day we had eaten walleye twice. I was ready for something a little different for dinner and promised the boys Alfredo pasta for one of the sides. Beans and potatoes are great but not every night. We had a great evening and yet another spectacular sunset. We discussed a plan for our final full day and decisions were made to include everyone’s wishes. As we cruised all of us seemed a little caught up in the moment. Zane was snapping photos and videos. He was talking to Greg but I couldn’t hear a thing. The routine played out with a comfortable rhythm. But something or rather someone was missing.

Our friend the mouse had been strangely absent. I felt maybe it was stressed after the last harrowing game of cat and mouse. I began to worry about it actually. I won’t lie here. The mouse traps were still set but I was forgetting to bait them. Or was I? I kept hoping it would show up while we were making dinner. I expressed my concern about the mouse to my companions but they had no answers. We were all wondering if there were still others though. We were at the table and the conversation turned to the movie “ The Green Mile” starring Tom Hanks. If you know the movie you might assign me as being Percy! Trying to kill the mouse and almost successful. Hmmm. I had never given my opponent a name or implied gender. I had been referring to the mouse as It. Creepy if you ever saw the movie:The Silence of The Lambs. Very derogatory and disrespectful to my worthy opponent. At this point in the story I am going to name the mouse Mr. Jangles. The mouse has earned that privilege. I hope it’s not a copyright infringement. The evening played out and Mr. Jangles never showed. We were all feeling a little melancholy about our trip nearing its end. But it wasn’t over and we still had time! This story must continue!

At this point in the story I wish to add a new character. Kathy. No she wasn’t in the bush country of Western Quebec. But she’s a blog reader and offered me some interesting encouragement! She liked the story but was interested in hearing more about the mouse from the start! I valued her feedback and assigned the mouse Mr. Jangles a greater place in the story. He’s the constant I once mentioned. He provides levity in the middle of this very real story. In a continued introduction to myself please note I am not lost or trapped in the pragmatic wilderness I call Tasmania. Quite the contrary. I liken Tasmania as a vast forest where I go to unload some heavy thoughts and escaped for awhile. Sharing stories and hoping to make a difference. Nature heals me and helps me grow as an individual. I will end this post with a quote written by someone I know very well. “ The answers to all questions in nature might be found. Never to have asked them, uncertain future bound”. ✍️.

Bush Cabin 5:Branching Out

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This is the fourth post of the Quebec bush trip. Final? Can’t say just yet. The front brim of my hard hat at work sports the Looney Tunes character the Tasmanian Devil.Under it the name Taz. My nickname on the job. Are you a devil I am often asked? No I reply. “The devil is in the details”. That’s what I throw back at them before I walk away. So I can’t say how many posts it will take to get this story told right. But it’s a fun web to spin.One of details and tiny strands that connect. I do one know thing.For most people I know bush camping is a place of discovery,exploration, and adventure. For me? Yes to all of them.But there’s a much deeper place where I find myself as the memories build. Deeper then the one section of Lake Dumoine where we found ourselves in 142 feet of water while approaching an island. A place where everything disappears in between. The tiny boat above the depths and far below expanses of ever changing sky. I was lost to those moments. Lost to everything that was back home. The triumphs and the failures. The average and mundane. And yes the intersection. The bush had empowered me. My mind had become a clean slate suddenly. And the minutes of the day were the chalk in a calm,steady hand. I had everything I needed as I drove the boat while my son and friend gazed into the distance as miles of lake would fall behind us. If Lake Dumoine was the stage then the characters kept arriving to play their parts. Who was playing the main role? The mouse of course! It had became the constant in the turning of the clock. Our time was growing shorter and although I tried not let the thoughts creep in they would. The best of story writers couldn’t possibly have imagined the events that occurred. That place where I was bent over with laughter! You can’t make this stuff up!

So we were back to normal as Sunday morning turned to afternoon. We decided to skip the naps and get our showers since we had hot water again. We had secured another map from the outfitter and sat around the table studying it. All week we had been observing a large and narrow island that was across the lake from our cabin. It had a large bald section that begged summit to me. It was decided to circle the island first by boat. We would be close to another lake that was off limits to us as it was leased by another outfitter. His clients had been border hopping all week and entering “our” territory. We had mentioned it to Eric but he seemed unconcerned. We had reached the point of our trip that I would title Success. Fish in the fridge. Fish frozen to take home. We were dialed into our fish factory. Raspberry Point. Our totals were approaching some impressive numbers. Greg was intent on breaking a total my friend and I had set in 2013 on a different Quebec lake while on a fly in bush trip. Lawrence and I had caught 194 walleye in 6 days of fishing. Big story to write there someday. And the picture that Lawrence took of me writing in the cabin journal?Priceless to me. I often wonder how many people ever read my simple rhyming words. The poem Lac Hebert was born of experience, the magic of the setting, and me missing Zane. I vowed to Lawrence one night to never go to the bush again without him. A promise I kept.

Our exploration mission was done with the utmost caution. By now we realized how vulnerable we were to breaking down. We talked about at length. We were alone and away from everyone.We would see the outfitter’s family occasionally out fishing or running gas to clients. But there were few clients and most of the cabins were unoccupied. Things continued to add up as we formed our opinions and made our assessments. One thing was crystal clear though. This was wild country and the fishing possibilities were endless. All that being said as the helmsman I protected our prop at all costs. That meant using the depth finder and cruising at low speeds in new sections of water. Rocks and shallow sunken shoals would appear without warning. In the narrow passage the rock formations closed in on us from both sides. Glacial erratics in spots. Tossed into the most unlikely places. It was eerily beautiful! Calm and very quiet. We reached the end of the island and entered the lake that was off limits to us once we crossed a certain point. We called it the Forbidden Zone. A name that fit in with other places we had named. Imagination runs wild in the bush country. Zane sees me in a new light then. I am more friend then father. Equals in the fishing competition where fairness and honesty prevail. Endless teasing between the three of us where language is crude and boisterous. So much had changed in 6 years. My boy was fast becoming a man. It didn’t trouble me though. He was happy and running wild here. I see myself in him sometimes. We share a special bond that nature strengthens with each passing season.

We eventually circled the island and found a rocky landing zone where a faint trail entered the forest. Greg decided to stay with the boat and not hike to the cliff. We had discussed the unique photo opportunities we would attempt to capture. So it was on! Our first hike after countless hours of fishing. We soon learned that the trail was a beaver skid way. They were harvesting aspen far up onto the slopes of the island. They had chewed down some very large trees! Their persistence pays off with the large trees. Often only partially notched by them before the wind does the rest. Regardless their trail gave us a nice path towards the cliff. I noticed a hanging piece of hollow birch bark beside the trail. It would make the perfect fire starter rocket. A trick I had taught Zane years before in the Adirondacks one rainy camping trip. It didn’t take long to get to the summit of the cliff . As we approached I pointed out some bear scat to Zane. We found several piles of them but they weren’t very fresh so we weren’t too alarmed. Black bear are abundant here as are moose. The view from the cliff was awesome! Far below Greg was out in the boat. Our cabin was visible beyond him in the distance. The view of the lake was impressive under the mixed sky of sun and clouds. I shouted out to Greg and we were rewarded with several echoes from different directions. Zane shouted out too and we reveled in the moment.No one to hear us so what did we care? We relaxed there for awhile before heading down to retrieve our birch bark prize. I suddenly noticed something that had escaped me on the hike up. Charred stumps sprinkled amongst the thick bush growth. There had been a forest fire here years ago. The island would have kept it isolated but had it been part of a much larger event? Research project there. We returned to the cabin and I assembled the rocket stove fire stater on the beach away from the cabin. It was decided to make a run to the ice house for bait and ice. The outfitter had told us we could get worms there. Our bait was disappearing fast. I was being careful to keep our leeches cool and in clean water. We had started with a full pound of them and were destined to run out before the end of the trip. They sound gross but they aren’t true bloodsuckers. Baited on a hook and presented properly they catch walleye! A trick a French Canadian had taught me over 20 years ago at nearby Kipawa Lake. We got to the site of the icehouse and cabin 6 to find it occupied. Four rather intoxicated fellows inside and staying there for a few days. We talked awhile and gathered some interesting information about our outfitter. They had been coming every year for over 10 years. They were a wealth of information! One guy had a pistol and I didn’t care for the nonchalant manner he had when he started waving it around. I made sure Zane was out of harms way and decided it was time to go. I would entrust myself to protect my son out on the water but not around this setting. They asked us to return and I knew we wouldn’t. Sometimes in life you get but one chance to get things right. This was one of those times. A loaded revolver should always have the hammer on a unloaded chamber. His was not and I had noticed right off. Greg had also. Their circus and their monkeys. Nice guys though and entitled to their decisions. Exit newest characters.

We had a great night fishing after our visit to cabin 6. We tried a new place off an island we seen the outfitter fishing one night. It lay off the super deep spot where the depth exceeded 140 feet. There were fish suspended at about 50 feet. No one had mentioned lake trout but I know a little about their habits and became curious just what species were lurking down there. There were even a few fish on the bottom. The rise of bottom leading up to the shore of the island was impressive. It jumped in 10 foot increments and we anchored in 20 feet of water. It was a boney bottom and snags were a problem from the start. Greg started catching great walleye from the front of the boat in the deeper water. I was stuck fishing in 10 feet of water and getting nothing. It’s that fickle sometimes. Greg was slightly in the lead in the contest at this point. He continued to pull ahead. He’s a very good walleye fisherman having been taught by a Canadian uncle over in North Bay,Ontario. Zane and I had some decent numbers though. We were a true team effort though. Taking turns netting the fish for each other. A lesson there for Zane. Netting is tricky and a serious responsibility. There’s nothing worse then losing a nice fish because the netter blows it. It does happen though as does having one break loose. We rarely had our lines break as we all use super strong braided line. Almost invisible and a hazard to the netter if they get caught up in it. It cuts like a knife especially with a thrashing walleye on the end of it. I think we all ended up with small cuts by the end of the week.Not to mention pierced by the super sharp dorsal fins the walleye sport. We use a gripper to minimize hazard to ourselves and to protect the fish.I requested to move the boat up to Raspberry Point where there were no snags on the sandy bottom. We named the place Keeper Point as we left due to the size of the walleye it had produced. Another dot on the map of a huge lake.

Back at Raspberry Point the wind picked and the “walleye chop” began to slap the boat. Perfect conditions! The waves seem to make the walleye feed. We all started catching fish and were having one of our best nights so far. We shared a few jokes and had some great laughs over goofy things! The sun set over the island in front of us and the trees took on a detail that the phone camera couldn’t quite capture. It was an epic moment for me. Totally checked out to our bush camp routines and the magic of rolling waves. Waiting for the tug of a finicky walleye. Trying to gauge the moment to set the hook. Concentration that supersedes all else. Only broken by the call of “fish on!” The netter’s job to drop his pole and take care of business. We had become the well oiled machine. We had become much more in fact. A band of brothers who had and were enjoying life to the max. I remember becoming quiet that evening and drifting in the rhythm of the waves. A dance of sorts as I stood there fishing. And I suddenly felt something come over me. I didn’t want to leave this place. Or all the places like it that were such a part of my core being. I had synced into the circle of nature. A place of rising and setting sun in midst of the cycles called seasons.That’s why I had agreed to come on such short notice. Money of little consequence. It can always be earned back in the afterglow of experience. Spontaneous and thrilling are these sudden decisions. There were many reasons why I had come here. Life can be heavy. Challenging and confusing.Filled with crushing heartbreak in many forms. I thought of our good friend Gerald lost to cancer last spring. Oh how he would have loved all this! He so loved to fish. I missed our 4th man who chose not to come. Our dear friend of adventures! I wasn’t filled with sadness. It was something so profound that I may never figure it out.Or even want to. It was turning point at a grand intersection of my life. I would soon be 60 and I was struggling with the idea. The solace of the bush was helping with that.I was living the dream. All those years of work had paved the way forward. I closed my eyes with a setting sun caressing my face and whispered to the sky thanks for my good fortune. All this was enough and would always be so.

We headed back to cabin with a beautiful sunset lighting the way. We passed the outfitter and some others fishing a huge sand bar we named The Markers. They fished there almost every night. We honored their private spot and only fished there once.It was business as usual back at the cabin. Fish to clean and to prep the nightly fry. A few freezer fish were added to the take home count. We were pushing the 194 record and felt pretty confident we would pass it. We were all in the main room when the mouse decided to visit. I know three had died but I persisted in the belief that my adversary hadn’t been killed. It sounds foolish I know but I felt it was true. My companions rolled their eyes at that one! Too much time in the sun perhaps. Why did the mouse tempt fate by showing up while we were there anyway? Something strange was afloat here. It had plenty of time to raid the place when we weren’t there. That’s why I know this was my mouse! He was fearless in a rash and cocky manner. Daring me to try for him again. He brazenly ran along the sink and in behind the stove. “Oh you want some of this? You want to play? It’s on my furry friend!”Yes I may have talked to the mouse! It was business as usual with him taunting me from behind the stove. I knew I was in trouble and called for backup. Zane moved into position and hovered just past the sink like a waiting predator. The odds were in our favor! I faked a move to the left of the stove and the mouse made his signature move! But Zane reached out with cat like reflexes as the mouse sped past. He grabbed the mouse but then screamed as the mouse bit him! The mouse let go without breaking skin or inflicting a wound. That said a lot about it’s character I decided. A good sport and a worthy opponent! The mouse once again reached the safety of the bathroom and we were left humbled by its skill. I reloaded the mouse traps and was thankful we had an abundance of peanut butter.By now I was recognizing the mouse by its size and color. I would know it if I caught it that night. But morning brought nothing but empty traps. And I was happy for that actually. Entertainment comes in different forms as does art. I hoped to soon square off once again with my opponent! The mouse had overstepped its boundaries by raiding in the first place. My companions were beginning to worry about me. Shut up about the mouse! ( sorry stole that line from a movie!) John Steinbeck said it well. “ Trouble with mice is you always kill ‘em” Or this Scots quote: “The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry”. There is a bigger picture here. This story can’t end! There’s still too much to tell!✍️

Settled Into Bush Life: The Third Mouse Gets The Cheese

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A title is a fun part of every post as I so often mention! I don’t report to a supervisor so I have the freedom of choice here. My titles are as diverse as the life I try to live through outdoor experience. Bush life took on special meaning this year. It had been six years since we last fished the wilds of Canada. The Event had closed the border. Life had changed in the slow turn of seasons. Life continued to change. I needed the bush experience this of all years. I am searching for something someone recently told me. Adventure most certainly. But there’s something much more profound that follows travel and adventure. The words wait for me out there. They are hidden like tiny treasures with no map to follow. Hidden around the world perhaps. Most certainly here in the wilds of North America. It is through spirit energy that they may find my tapping fingers. The Grand Wander may someday connect the dots. Sometimes it’s best to grab the opportunities and not hesitate. This has been summer 2022. The only one I will ever be blessed to experience.

Our third day started out following our new routine. Coffee always for me. Perked on the gas stove and boiling hot. We had been told that our cabin had a generator but it didn’t.Greg had brought a deep fryer for fish and we never got to use it. Too bad as both of us own small Honda suitcase generators that we could have brought. Next time! Charging phones was going to get difficult once our portable battery backups were depleted. There’s no phone service but we all use them as cameras. Getting Zane up and moving was difficult in the early morning hours. But he always did when being threatened with getting left behind. I wouldn’t have though but don’t tell him that! Greg was recording the fishing competition in a notebook I had brought along. Two categories were closed out. First walleye for me. First pike for Greg. I was slightly in the lead in the most walleye category but Greg was catching up. Literally. I held the lead with biggest walleye but I knew my fish couldn’t hold that spot long at a mere 18 inches. Nice fish though and perfect for the table. We continued to catch enough to keep our fish fry count going that morning but realized we needed to do better. So we continued to try new sections on the lake. Lake Dumione is huge and very cut up with islands. There are several extended “fingers”. It was almost intimidating at times. We know walleye though and soon spotted several places we knew might hold them. We were using a portable fish finder to check for depths. Depths are crucial to successful walleye fishing. They love shelves and drop offs. I won’t bore you with walleye fishing tips but wanted to paint a picture of sorts. Three guys in a boat scouting a large lake and mapping it out for possibilities. Our fishing location from the first morning was named The Chicken Hole. Chicken Holes are an Alaska thing when halibut fishing. They contain large numbers of small fish. I named the site of our first successful catch The Chicken Hole because it had earned the title. We were doing ok but wanted to step up our catch. The morning was moderately successful but not fantastic.

The rest of the morning followed our new routine. The weather had been beautiful since that first night but some clouds were rolling in. Back at camp we started the gas water pump and filled the tanks on the ridge that supplied the gravity fed pressurized water system. We also scouted our beach area for firewood and inspected our cabin better. The cabin had a rather tired look about it. Broken door latch on the screen porch. Spots in the ceiling where the roof had leaked at some point. We had everything we needed though and Marly had told Greg that The Event had hurt their business for two years. 70 percent of their customers came from the United States. Maintenance had been put on hold during that time. Things were adding up. So morning routine. Afternoon nap. We had wanted to get out early and scout the lake prior to the evening fish. Most walleye are caught in the morning or in the evening. Afternoons are best spent with other pursuits. I walked out to the dock after I realized how dark and cloudy the sky was getting. We decided to lay low and suddenly we heard the rumble of an approaching thunder storm. The storm hit with little warning and the pouring rain turned into decent sized hail stones. The noise on the metal roof of the cabin was deafening. The precipitation tapered off eventually and I went down to bail out the boat. The hail had given it a nice scrubbing and the scent of fish was gone from it. Bonus! We set out under clearing skies to try a new location. We were getting accustomed to the lake and were venturing further out from the cabin. Our new location proved productive and we named it Raspberry Point. The reasons for this will remain silent. All I can say is that bush people live a bit different then we do! The sunset was beautiful and we returned to the cabin at dusk. The nighttime routine resumed. But our furry rodent friend had been busy!

We had seen the mouse one morning during brunch. It came from out of the bathroom and scurried around in the kitchen. I gave chase but it was extremely fast and agile. The trap continued to be stripped of its peanut butter. The mouse trap was as old and worn as most of our furnishings. I gave it a few adjustments and tried to set a hair trigger on it. Sometime in the night I heard it snap! Got him! In the morning I noticed that the trap trigger was clean. There’s a second mouse I told my companions! I walked around the cabin repeating the old quote: the second mouse gets the cheese. My companions quickly grew tired of hearing it but I was proud of my accomplishment! I found a better trap on the porch and got it functioning. Two traps are better than one! But the second mouse was a master of stripping traps. It doubled down and cleaned both traps. Greg mentioned that there were probably many mice actually. But I stubbornly clung to the idea that I was battling wits with just one. It all came down to me or him! Things were about to get even more interesting! Trying to catch mice was becoming a form of bush camp entertainment. Let’s face it there was no television or internet.

Saturday was a day of reflection for me. Three days had passed since we had left New York.It would mark the halfway point of our trip. We had caught quite a few walleye and a few pike. Many small fish had been safely released along with all the pike. We continued with our routines.Raspberry Point began to prove its worth as a walleye hotspot. Greg pounded them there that morning and evening. He took the lead in total and size. We now had more then enough to eat and began to freeze our take home limits. Six per man. We explored more of the lake but became a little caught up with fishing. We returned to the cabin that night and I had a bunch of fish to clean. Greg and Zane shared other chores but I cleaned and cooked all the walleye. We had just returned to the cabin when Greg said he had spotted the mouse! I grabbed a hiking boot and gave chase! It was an epic battle of cat and mouse. The mouse would hide behind the stove until I flushed him out then cut him off. This went on for a while. Eventually the mouse made a break for it and got past me. I dove at it with a flying leap that was Olympic quality! Missed! I rolled over and gave chase but the mouse made good his escape into the bathroom. Greg was rather dumbfounded by my antics but my determination reached new heights. I tweaked the mouse traps once more. It was close to 10pm and I was in the midst of frying the second pan of fish when the lights began to flicker. Suddenly everything went black! Out of propane. No big deal as there were two tanks. We would just switch over. Simple. Out we went beers in hand to accomplish our simple task. Nothing to this bush camp living! We clicked the valve over and I could hear the sound of gas rushing through the lines. Back to the fish fry!Things were normal for a time but suddenly the lights flickered again and went out. Two dead tanks and out of options. Never! There was a smaller propane tank on an old gas grill outside. We would swap that one into our lines. Off we went beers in hand. Nothing to this bush camp living! But the valve was so tight we couldn’t get it loose. Dinner was somewhat less then perfect. My fish had gotten soggy and everything had gone cold. But we had a much bigger problem. Our propane fridge was down also and all our carefully wrapped fish were in danger of thawing as well as what was inside. The language at this point would have made a sailor blush. No worries Greg had been in the Navy years ago. We began tossing options around. Go find our hosts at 11pm? Considered for a moment. Too risky even though we knew the lake pretty good. We agreed that going to bed was the best option. But something amazing was about to happen!

It’s hard to imagine darkness in this day of light pollution as they call it. Not true in the wilds of Western Quebec. It’s darkness like you may never experience. I had my flashlight close by at any rate. Sometime in the night I was awakened by the snap of the mouse trap. I heard some sounds of struggle but didn’t get up and things soon quieted down. In the morning I was brought to life by Greg’s animated voice. “Dude you’ve got to see this!”. I dragged myself out of bed to see an amazing sight! Two mice caught in the same trap! A true daily double if there ever was one! But my joy was short lived when I realized there would be no morning coffee. Greg and I grabbed an empty cooler before heading to the boat. We knew where we could get ice and possibly find our host. The caretaker cabin and ice house were just a few miles away. Off we went. I was rather crabby and Greg remarked that I was miserable without my coffee. Why wouldn’t I be crabby? My wonderful golden walleye fillets reduced to soggy but edible slabs the night before. Good thing Greg and Zane had eaten first while I was cooking. And then there’s missing the morning fishing outing. Greg and I spotted the caretaker cabin after traveling for a few minutes. Zane had stayed behind to sleep more. We were pleased to see two boats on shore. Both hosts would be there. I approached the cabin rather timidly after reading a sign nailed to the porch. “If you can read this then you are in range”. Makes a person want to knock on the door.No one stirred and the cabin was quiet. We left to go to our next best hope. The icehouse at cabin 6. The outfitter cuts ice in the winter and stores it in a specially constructed building. We had been told to help ourselves by the outfitter and had visited it once before while out exploring. The ice would help save our food until someone brought us a new propane tank. We knew that some of the outfitter’s family was staying in cabin 6 so Greg went up and knocked on the door. A sleepy teenage girl came to the door and agreed to go get her parents up. Back at the camp I decided to make a fireplace to cook bacon while Greg attempted to make coffee on the gas grill. We were trying to be positive and solve our problems. Nothing to this bush camping right? 😡The ice was put into the fridge and freezer where things had remained quite cold actually. Eric showed up some time later and got everything back under control. We didn’t make a scene or get agitated. At that point things were continuing to add up. We jumped right back into our routine minus having fished. I reset the mouse trap and began walking around the cabin saying “the third mouse gets the cheese!” My companions were not impressed and remarked that the third mouse had been killed so it was the fourth mouse that got the cheese. True. The traps continued to be robbed. The fishing continued to get better and better for us as our week moved forward. It was time to push for all the things that we still wanted to do beside fishing. Things were ramping up as the bush life entered a new chapter. Time was ticking away.✍️

The Solace Of The Bush:Part 2

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This post is long overdue and work has sapped my creativity to a degree. I think I need to auto dictate to digital format while driving. Multi tasking might have possibilities. Something to consider.

I left the story hanging with us arriving at the outfitter’s landing after being lost for hours. Nighttime was coming and we had lots to do before reaching our remote cabin. We stepped out of the truck to a rather cluttered section of beach. Empty boats and gas cans. Miscellaneous equipment of all sorts. A busy yard as well.There was a noisy generator running on a small hill that appeared to power a small house with an open door. An old dog hobbled to the threshold and regarded us with a defensive demeanor. Three young girls came out as we approached. I inquired about their parents but they were out on the lake we were informed. We explained who we were and they looked us up in a hand written notebook. No computer although the house had a couple satellite dishes mounted on the roof. Cabin 5 they finally decided. We headed to the beach where we were given our rented boat to load with our gear. A teenage girl who said her name was Marly would bring a second boat with one passenger and the remaining gear. I asked an older girl who was helping to make sure we had gas after I checked the tank. We were a little throw off with just the girls in charge and no adults. It was decided that Zane and I would take one boat while Greg B. went in the other with Marly driving. She asked if I knew how to operate the outboard. Some men have no clue she mentioned with a hint of sarcasm. I said I felt pretty confident that I was up to the task.We shoved off in our heavily laden crafts. They seemed like decent boats with newer four stroke Yamaha engines. The prop on ours was a little chewed up though. I had taken a picture of it before leaving and had mentioned it to Marly. Always a good idea when renting a bush lake boat. Marly cautioned me to avoid some sunken logs near shore. They appeared to be the remains of a former dock system from years past. They were almost ghostly below the surface and a threat to our props. We reached our cruising speed and picked our way through a group of islands. I stayed close behind Greg and Marley. These bush lakes have few to no navigational markers. Just the occasional Clorox jug to mark a hidden shoal. We were making good time and were approaching some much larger sections of big water as the sun began to set. I pointed a rainbow out to Zane some distance away. It looked like rain had fallen off to the East recently. The waves began to pick up some but were nothing too worry about really. Zane and I were wearing our life vests. Greg and Marly were not. We were out in a section of big water when I noticed something to the north. An obvious downpour from a fast approaching storm. The waves suddenly began to hit our bow with greater size and intensity. They were close to four footers when the wind and rain caught us shortly after. The wind driven rain stung my face and Zane’s hat was blown away! We were soaked within seconds but that was the least of our concerns. Our heavily loaded boat was foundering and taking on water when I tried to alter our course towards the safety of shore. All I could do was keep the bow into the wind and feather the throttle to ease us through the swells. There came a moment in the height of the storm where there was danger in taking the swells head on however. The bow was nearly going under on the down slope between the waves. If we swamped we would be in trouble! I lost control of the bow a couple of times and we side slipped between the huge swells. I felt as if we were going to go over! Zane was laughing and shouting into the wind like some crazy amusement park rider on a roller coaster! No fear there. I hammered the throttle to get back on course. The 15 horsepower motor was no match against the fury of the storm. I changed my tactics slightly. I kept the bow at an angle which resulted in drenching amounts of water being flung over us and the gear. There was no time for second guesses or hesitation. It was do or die as they say. It was fast and furious. Time stood still as my eyes struggled to see in the stinging rain. We lost sight of Greg and Marly although we did see a boat racing past us in the opposite direction. The storm passed over us soon after and the sun returned to the western horizon.Zane and I were laughing like crazy after our scary ordeal. What a ride to start off our adventure! But I was getting concerned about Greg and Marly.The waves began to subside a little and we began searching for our second boat. I was getting nervous and they were no where to be seen. I felt a twinge of panic! No life vests on them and a very heavy boat. Not good considering our wild ride. I spotted a boat way behind us just floating. We headed towards it thinking it was someone else. What a relief when we realized it was them! They were stalled out and Marly couldn’t get the motor going. We decided to tow them to a distant cove to escape the rolling waves. The sun continued to set with beautiful colors and I was lost in the moment. A setting sun on a new and unknown Canadian lake surrounded by pristine forest. Rolling in the now smaller waves watching the storm pass over the dark green of the distant unbroken forest. A large bay held several islands and high rocky outcroppings that thrust up out of the lake. They glowed in the setting sun and words can not describe what I felt. This is living I yelled to Zane! The moment was almost surreal in its power. I felt alive and rejuvenated. Nothing new this buzz of adrenaline fueled by challenge. I will chase it forever.

In the cove I was able to get Marly’s motor started eventually and we headed out once again. I had no clue where we were going as our map had been destroyed by the downpour. It came out of my pocket in pieces. Darkness began to claim the lake and the post storm air was cool on my soaked clothing. Two boats sped up to us and approached Marly. Someone who knew her it appeared. We headed out again four boats strong but the single passenger boats moved along much faster then our loaded ones. We followed them and they led us to our cabin. Marly’s parents had been out fishing and had come to help us settle into camp. It was getting rather dark as we entered our home away from home.The owner introduced himself as Eric. He lit our gas lamps as we tossed our gear onto the screen porch. Eric was pretty laid back and seemed pretty nonchalant about the recent storm. He spoke with a Canadian accent but not French like I had expected. His wife Jamie gathered up some firewood from the beach and we started a fire in the stove to dry out our gear. Our hosts left shortly after saying that they would return in the morning. We surveyed our new surroundings and claimed our bunks. The cabin sleeps eight between two bedrooms so there was plenty of room. It was very typical for a remote bush camp. Propane lights,fridge,and cook stove. The added bonus of a bathroom with hot shower and flush toilet. Water pressure was supplied from tanks up on a ridge we discovered later. We unloaded our gear and cooled down our bait in the fridge. We had missed evening fish so had to settle for a simple dinner of hotdogs. The beer began to flow and we made plans for the morning. New water to learn and figure out. Greg played some music and little by little we transitioned into cabin life. Our cupboards were loaded with our provisions for the week.We fixed our bunks and got the morning coffee prepped. It was time to sleep. Little did we know we weren’t alone in the cabin.

Morning came quickly and we were anxious to get out fishing. We had started a friendly competition going. $5 per category per person. The categories were first walleye caught, most walleye for the week, biggest walleye for the week, and first pike caught. It was on! We slammed some coffee and readied our gear. Grabbed bait and waters. Lucky for us Greg had taken a picture of the map with its marked fishing spots. We headed to one closest to our cabin. We anchored in front of a rocky point and quickly dropped our lines. Zane and I used leeches on bait floats while Greg used a jug. It wasn’t long at all when I felt that first tugging walleye. I snapped my rod up and got the first walleye of the trip after Zane netted it!A keeper of 15 inches. The start of our first fish fry. I got several more after that and had a nice bunch of 7 on the stringer. Greg and Zane got a few before the bite quit. We hit a second spot nearby and Greg caught the first pike of the trip.The sun began to get hot and we were needing to clean fish. Get brunch too. We came in with a nice stringer of walleye for our evening fish fry. It was to become a routine. Try and secure a fish fry before breakfast. Other routines would soon follow.

We entered the cabin and soon realized that we had company. Mice! They had been chewing on a bread wrapper and getting into things.There was an old mouse trap by the stove and I got it set up with peanut butter. I cleaned fish while Zane and Greg made brunch. Our breakfasts consisted of bacon,toast, and eggs but not every morning. We sat around after breakfast and decided a nap was in order. A routine that also started. Later we tried out the shower and prepared to explore the lake. There was a lot of it out there.

It’s hit or miss on new water. We learned that a long time ago. We tried a few different spots as evening approached but nothing much happened. We did boat a few but felt we hadn’t found the perfect spots just yet. We weren’t disappointed by the end of our first day of fishing. We had plenty for dinner and tomorrow was another day. So back to the cabin for happy hour and preparing dinner. We would make our signature bush meal. Breaded and pan fried walleye fillets, fried potatoes, and beans. It was decided that I would fry the walleye. I got the grease perfect in an old cast iron frying pan before dropping the first round of fillets. Cast iron is my old friend of fish frying, My golden delights were served on paper plates but worthy of a fine restaurant. Fresh and hot I kept bringing them to the table. We ate walleye until we were stuffed! Wow was it ever good! I noticed our friend the mouse had been busy. The peanut butter was gone from the trap. We headed to bed after our ten o’clock dinner. The next routine that became a daily aspect of bush camp living. We joked back and forth between our bedrooms with the bathroom light glowing softly as a night light. The bush camp smelled of fried fish and the ever present smell of burning propane. I always kept our window open for ventilation. The darkness of the forest behind the cabin was never oppressive. Rather it was comforting. There was no sound but the occasional cry of a loon. We were happy and all was well. Slightly buzzed from alcohol and tired from our day. Far from civilization and the responsibilities of home. Bush living slows the mind and quiets the heart. We were making all kinds of new memories! MOONTABS! I will leave it here for now. There is much left to tell!

The Solace Of The Bush

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Talk about a story overdue! It’s been awhile since I last posted I am sorry to report. Creativity is a most perplexing thing I have decided. It ebbs and wanes like a tide. This summer has been more like a tsunami at times.But our recent trip to the bush of Quebec brought certain things back into focus for me. A week in nature has the capacity to transform my demeanor and slow my thoughts. Perhaps it is the simplicity and the challenges that take us far from the norm when we arrive in our temporary homes away from home.There’s a certain fascinating aspect of planning for new and unknown destinations. An expenditure of funds and energy.But time is the biggest expenditure quite honestly. The moments when you challenge your decisions occasionally before you leave. Travel rarely disappoints. There’s always something special to be found. Even in challenge. The vastness of the Quebec bush leaves me speechless at times. Miles and miles of wild country that stretches in all directions. Waterways leading to more waterways. One can not live long enough to ever explore them all. That is the magic draw of wild country. A journey worth the time and effort. And the lost will find their way through if it is destined to come true. I am not sure if I can get this story right. But it’s worth a try!

I certainly didn’t prepare well for the trip early on. I sort of threw everything together suddenly just before we left. We were required to submit information to the ArriveCAN system 72 hours prior to our arrival. I downloaded the free app first. The process was fairly simple using our passports and vaccination cards. I was sent a confirmation bar code and checked that task off my list. Next came the assembling of clothes, rain gear, and fishing equipment. I always take 2 rods and several reels strung with new line. Once there equipment can’t be replaced easily if at all. Grocery lists were left till last and our assembled pile of gear became rather large looking. I threw in my portable fish finder at the last minute after our traveling companion Greg reminded me to bring it. And just like that it was almost time to go! I set my alarm for 3am. Greg was scheduled to pick us up at Camp Edith (aka Camp Chaos) at 5:30am. Needless to say I didn’t sleep long or well. We left on time with a sleepy Zane in the backseat of Greg’s truck. In Ogdensburg we topped off the gas tank and headed for the Ogdensburg/Prescott border crossing. Traffic was almost nonexistent and we soon reached the checkpoint. The border agent scanned our passports and never asked to scan our ArriveCAN barcodes. He asked the usual questions and gave us clearance with no delays. We were off and my anxiety eased off. What is it that always makes some of us nervous when we are about to cross into Canada? The fact that our whole trip depends on getting across the border!

We traveled in the darkness most of the way to the outskirts of Ottawa with light traffic around us. We soon found ourselves on highway 17. The main route we needed to reach western Quebec. We grabbed a quick breakfast at a Tim Hortons and people seemed to be staring at Greg. I guess it was his shirt or something. It had a rather interesting pattern of design but maybe it was something else. We were obviously pumped up and excited. Somewhat animated as we waiting in line behind people who were headed off to work. Three older gentleman stared at us with intense and somewhat unfriendly concentration. I ignored everyone at that point and focused on my breakfast. We made excellent time and the towns fell behind us. We left Hwy 17 and headed up a serpentine route known as 533. It’s the quickest way up into Quebec. We stopped for gas at a convenience store that was also an LCBO. Ontario’s only source for beer etc. since they don’t sell it everywhere. Shortly after we crossed the Ottawa river into Quebec in the mill town of Temiscaming.There’s a huge paper mill located just over the river. It employs some 600 plus people we were told. I would suspect that the town would disappear if it ever closed. We met tractor trailer loads of bush pulp as we traveled. We stopped to purchase Quebec nonresident fishing licenses. A bargain at $52 Canadian. Bait was pricey though. $60 for a full pound of leeches. Worms were about $36 a hundred. But walleye fishing is best with live bait we feel. We were running ahead of schedule.Our trip was about to take a turn for the worse though.

We headed to the small town of Kipawa situated on huge Lake Kipawa. where we expected to make contact with the outfitter and get detailed directions to the landing where we would get our boats. We couldn’t get anyone on the phone so we asked directions at a provincial park checkpoint. We were headed in the right direction and had a basic idea of where to go. Epic mistake! The pavement turned into a wide and dusty dirt road . Other vehicles were flying down it at reckless speeds. Dust everywhere! We reached kilometer 38 where we thought we were supposed to make a left turn. There were numerous outfitter signs on a post but our outfitter wasn’t listed. We figured our turn was further down the dirt road. We eventually reached a four way intersection. There were signs once again but nothing obvious for our outfitter. We knew the road to the right was in the wrong direction so chose to go straight. We didn’t travel far before the road became almost impassable with huge cobblestones slowing us to crawl. The thick bush crowded the road on both sides and turning around would prove difficult. There was no cell service but we could find our vehicle on the truck’s navigation system. The number of lakes on the screen defied the imagination! The bush was sprinkled with dozens of them! We eventually located our lake but it was some distance away with no clear roads leading to it. We decided to return to the intersection and make some sort of decision about how to proceed. Greg and Zane suddenly spotted a small sign partially hidden by brush and weeds! We had found our way! Not too far down the much narrower and very rough road we hit an unmarked intersection. No signs of any kind. We decided to head straight through once again. A short time later we hit another intersection. Still no signs save one for a nearby lake where there was some sort of fishing camp. We decided to go ask directions there. After a bumpy drive down an even narrower road we found the camp but no was there! So off we continued into the unknown. Progress was slow on the gravel roads that were little more than old logging trails. There was evidence of former logging activity. Slash piles and overgrown log landings. Tall,single trees that had been spared stood high above the new growth of a healing bush. Berry bushes and brush that would be almost impassable it appeared. The bush was hilly but never mountainous. We crossed small creeks and the occasional beaver pond. Some old and littered with dead and formerly flooded trees. Others active and full of dark swamp water. The time was speeding past and we suddenly began to worry about being lost. It was a land of numerous intersections and few signs.

We continued to consult the truck navigation gps and were heartened to see our lake getting closer at times. The bush country was still a maze of lakes on our screen and we were amazed at the amount of territory we were traveling through. We hadn’t even seen one other vehicle to ask directions or any inhabited structures. Breaking down or running out of fuel would be a disaster! We continued to inch closer to our lake on the screen but never seemed to find a clear route through to it. We reached yet another confusing intersection. We chose the better maintained of the two roads and eventually passed a couple camps. Once place looked like someone lived there. Why we didn’t get out and ask directions still baffles me honestly. I guess I thought we were going to make it through with stubbornness alone. We continued down our new road but the gps showed us getting further from our lake so we turned around. We passed a road going up over a severely washed out hill and decided to check it out. It soon got very narrow with brush scraping at the truck. No way we decided. So backtrack to another intersection and down it. Encouraging on the screen and we suddenly felt more confident. We passed a small camp with a vehicle out front then crossed a small bridge over a tiny but beautiful river. The road suddenly turned into a four wheeler trail! No way through and Greg had to back all the way out to the bridge! I decided to go up to the cabin and see if anyone was home. A generator was running so I knocked on the door. A gentleman came to the door in just a small set of underwear. He barely spoke English and had no clue which direction we should head. New to the area he told me kindly. Things were getting discouraging and we were suddenly facing the need for a serious decision.

Greg mentioned an turn way back the way we had come so we backtracked once more. It was slow going and we were becoming concerned by the time. We were also getting irritated by the lack of any signs to help us through. We made it to the turn finally and headed down it. It brought us right back to a road we had just been across. Let’s go back one more time I suggested. We passed a motorcycle but didn’t flag him down since he was tooling right along. We passed the occupied house again and kept going until a gate blocked our way. Back we went towards the occupied house. Let’s stop and ask directions this time we all decided! We were in luck as there was a woman outside! She was friendly and helpful! I apologized for disturbing her but she was happy to get us straightened out! I introduced my self and she said her name was Bianca.Very French and attractive I must add. She and her husband live in the bush year round she explained when I asked. Solar power and generators. Snowmobiles to travel the logging roads to town.She wasn’t a bush lady as I might have envisioned and I so wished to interview her! It turns out that the washed out and brush choked road we had once started down was a way through. She offered to escort us if we experienced further problems. She also said never hesitate to stop and ask directions in the bush. People will be glad to help. We suddenly felt encouraged once again and set off down the horrible road. I had to get out several times and remove brush from the road. It continued to get later as we inched forward and we knew that we probably wouldn’t get to fish our first night. Eventually we reached the road that would lead us too our landing. Also narrow and brushy. This was wild country most certainly! One final turn and we reached the base camp. We had reached Lake Dumoine.What an adventure and not a great one either. And things were about to get even more interesting! ( to be continued).✍️