Bush Cabin 5:Branching Out

Posted on by

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

Posted on by

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

Posted on by

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

Posted on by

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).✍️

The Forgotten Ones

Posted on by

August 9th is getting closer although I can’t always wrap my head around the passage of time. I often written about time but these days I am trying to live in the now. I am searching for answers to new questions. I find myself at the proverbial fork in the road. There are no signs or mile markers. I certainly haven’t been traveling an interstate anyway by any definition of highway. Picture a single lane road with twists and turns. Numerous bumps and potholes. You can never see very far up this road ever it seems. It doesn’t show on maps or have gps coordinates.It’s certainly the road less traveled I have decided. I am thinking that maybe it’s not a fork in the road at all. Maybe it’s an intersection of different roads. Some I suspect are dead ends even though they are not marked. Call it intuition.They look too easy to head down with colorful billboards filled with promises. Others look too smooth and predictable. I fear I would fall asleep driving down them.See here’s the thing. They all end up in the same place. It’s all about how much time I get to travel and if I am able to keep driving. And since this is a nature themed blog where my imagination runs wild let’s also assume that I am walking.Call this a continuing introduction of sorts to my present state of mind. As for the road? I am planning on taking the one that is choked with weeds with lots of low hanging brush that may scratch me up some. It seems more interesting and calls out to the spirit energy that spins my inner compass. No fear. Things will show themselves in time. I have a story to tell now.

August 9th 2021. The day I started at the Lake Placid Olympic Center Revitalization Project working as an electrician. Nothing new to me. Just a new location filled with new people and tasks. I was there for several reasons and I have mentioned them before on this site. Aside from financial compensation I was there for another important reason. Stimulation for creation. I was going to be working and living in the Airstream in the beautiful Adirondack Mountains! But that’s not the important part of this story. The important part is the people I have gotten to know. This my story but more importantly it is their story. One I promised them last year. One that needed to wait as fate delivered new characters and new events. A story that only time and proximity to all the other workers would write all by itself. It would take the change of seasons and a job that continued to move forward to fill in the chapters of this story. Lots of listening at break time and asking people questions. No I don’t spend all day talking! There’s time in the morning before the shift and after. There’s always time to gather a little bit of people’s stories. It’s been a difficult week on the job. Today we honor and remember one of our Union brothers. He will not be forgotten by those of us who got to know him. Just who are the forgotten ones then?They are my friends, fellow tradesmen, and those who occupy our workplace. They are more than a passerby will ever know. In the fray we are united.

I can’t say for certain when I began to ponder the subject of the forgotten ones or if most people would even understand. There’s no connection to nature in this story.There’s certainly a connection to human interaction and coexistence. This story is not intended to insult non-construction personal nor unfairly target anyone. It is meant to portray a certain lifestyle choice we choose. A profession that is far too often misrepresented and stereotyped. I am the seasoned veteran at this point as are many of my peers and I know more people then I can even remember now. The forgotten ones are construction people I work with and find interesting. They all have a story! I love to hear their stories! I can’t name everyone unfortunately. But if someone reads this that works with me or knows me and wants to share then I am all ears!There’s always room for a part two!

Let’s lay a foundation of sorts now. Picture reading the newspaper or watching the news. A project of new construction or renovation is featured. The plans were drawn and bids were accepted. Things are about to take off. You might see a golden shovel and a ground breaking ceremony. Shiny new hard hats on smiling dignitaries in spotless clothing kicking off the project.But where are the workers? They aren’t there yet of course! Fast forward many months or sometimes years. A ribbon cutting ceremony with smiling dignitaries and high end project personnel. But where are the workers? Gone of course! The job was finished and “punched” out. Countless man hours were expended and all manners of tradespeople were involved in the process of completing the project. Sure we got paid for our efforts.That’s what employment is all about. But not many ever really recognize the team efforts that make up a completed project.In all fairness is it safe to say that we as construction workers know exactly what other people truly do or how they accomplish their jobs? Probably not in every insistence. By now you may have gotten the gist of the title! Yes I fear sometimes we are the forgotten ones! Maybe far too many of us American workers. Our service men and women too. We’re not looking for a holiday! We have one! It’s called Labor Day!Most importantly it’s all about joking around and keeping people engaged!I have fun talking to other workers and kept telling them that I will write a story for us!

On my present project we have a morning safety/coordination meeting that everyone attends. It’s common these days and a good idea truthfully. It turns into a golden opportunity for talking before and slightly after most days. We are a diverse group of individuals. Men mostly but there are several women as well. That’s common also now. I enjoy looking around and watching everyone.There are quite a few trades represented on our project. All levels of talent. I work on a crew of electricians that numbers around 10 most days. There’s usually someone that’s missing for whatever reason. Mainly me! Lol!We are a pretty tight bunch and our foreman Mike knows how to pair us up best. I get special treatment cause I am the odd man out being a part timer. I work with other trades people that I know by name only. I don’t know their stories and it’s only because we had some type of job interaction. We come in all sizes and shapes. Heavy,slim,tall, and short.Worn clothing and crusty old hard hats are the norm. Our hard hats are our badge of travel experience.Covered with stickers that sometimes give a snapshot into our personal lives. Steel toed work boots and safety eye protection make up the remaining wardrobe. We are all ages. From the very young fresh faced apprentices with shiny new hard hats to grizzled,gray veterans of countless projects. Plenty of teasing and bull shitting going on. You learn quickly or suffer immensely as one young apprentice did recently. He stepped away and decided our crude workplace wasn’t his true calling. We’re not cruel or hateful but we expect a lot. It’s the nature of the beast as they say. It’s not for everyone. I take the inevitable teasing all in stride and would be disappointed if I didn’t get ribbed by the other workers. I give it right back with crude adjectives sprinkled in like toppings on a salad.Language is spoken differently amongst the forgotten ones. Fortunately I have learned to alter my vocabulary off the job. Funny how that works! You never truly have time to get to know everyone and some workers are totally off reach. Cynical,dark, and possessed of negative attitudes. Best avoided and left to their internal strife. They are few in number fortunately. You never truly know what’s going on in someone’s life so it’s best not to judge harshly. We are the motley crew. Plenty of long distance driving for some. Motel rooms and nighttime bar life for others during the week. Camp ground life for some of us. The days begin quietly and end the same. In between it’s a beehive of noisy activity. My first day on a new project always give me a twinge of anxiety. It’s been like that for years despite my decent knowledge of our trade. There’s a new commute to learn. Parking issues sometimes. Not knowing anyone sometimes. I always fear that I won’t make the grade for some strange reason. I am not alone in this feeling though. Others tell me that as well. We are just migrate workers I often tell the new apprentices. When the work is gone so are we. It’s off to new places and new coworkers. That’s the juice and the addiction that has always fueled my buzz for construction work once I get settled into the job. The unknowns and the unexpected. I have made some great long term friends out on the jobs. Others turned out to be passing through but once we are separated from the job it’s not always easy to connect. That pretty much sums up some of it. My heart is heavy today as I leave to say goodbye to our friend and brother. I so wished to get to know him better and hear more of his story. He now numbers as one of my fallen coworkers that we have lost to accident, time, and health issues. They are not forgotten ones.

I find it time to lighten the subject and bring some levity as I close this post to continue my day. The levity lives in the nicknames that follow some of my coworkers. Please don’t be disappointed if I miss you this time around! I will start with Eric. Aka Fat Dog. I hope he lets me feature him on a future post. We think he’s the best! There’s another cat they call Swamp Buck Billy. What a trip that dude! There’s Big Al and my new friend Sky Dog. Aka Cowboy too!A guy they call Dougie Fresh. There’s also the Odyssey of Homer. He’s funny when he yells a the younger guys to get stuff done!There’s a guy Cody that I call Code Red. And Ryan the spaceman due to his weird helmet visor. There’s Light Pole Larry and Scotty the satellite whisperer. There’s Matt known to some as the People’s choice in small circles of competitive large weight lifters off the job. A few know me as Taz but mostly call me by my given name. I can’t even begin to acknowledge everyone. A few from years ago stick with me to this day! Road Kill and Bad Ass Bud. Buffalo Bob and Smurf. A longer haired me sported the nickname Goldilocks. There’s Dirt Belly aka Black Out. Rocket Man Ron and the Turbo Tot. Rug burn. So many forgotten ones as well. How ironic this occupational assignment of names and faces. We will leave your town a better place we feel. Not to mention a few dollars short of our hard won cash. Enjoy the ribbon cutting folks! We won’t be there for it. If fact I don’t know where I’ll be headed. Maybe to the rocky hills of Macomb to wander the farm property for a bit. It’s been hard to leave this racket for some reason. I guess it poisoned my blood a long time ago. Who’s to say and should I even bother asking at this point? It’s the people I think. It’s the stories and how we get there. It’s the finished product we craft with prideful purpose. That’s how I see it anyway.✍️

For Zack. We Just Never Know

Posted on by

Zane and I have continued with additional Adirondack challenges since completing our ADK 46 high peaks in September of 2020. Three of the additional challenges are often called the Trifecta.The peaks are found in the Tupper Lake region,Saranac Lake region, and in the Lake Placid region. If you desire to summit some beautiful and less demanding hikes then consider the Trifecta challenge.

We completed the easiest of the three first.The Tupper Lake Triad. We then tackled our remaining Saranac 6 mountains. We had hiked Ambersand in June of 2020 as a test of my hiking abilities post broken pelvis recovery. It was a tough day for me and I seriously had to reconsider how we were going to complete our remaining high peaks that summer. But that’s another story. By autumn of 2021 we were shy 2 peaks of the 9 peaks that make up the Lake Placid 9. Commonly listed as the LP9. The final 2 peaks were hiked on snowshoes in Winter 2022. We found it exhilarating and something totally different. It’s important to note that we had hiked the Saranac 6 mountain known as Scarface in January of 2021 on a sub-zero day.The trails were so hard that we didn’t need snowshoes! Yes we were supposed to have them! I suppose a detailed post about the Trifecta will be in order at some point as we made some incredible memories completing it. It’s time to pull this story together and explain the overlapping nature that occurs when one embarks on the Adirondack fire tower challenge. The fourth of our adventure challenges.

Ok that’s where I left off as a draft the other day. I intended to finish later but things happened. I have always promised raw and honest testimony here. As much as I would like to write of the fire tower challenge I need to unload my thoughts and feelings of the past few days.Life happens fast sometimes and things occur that stop us in our tracks. The heart still beats but the pulse of that life stops for a moment. I am choosing to leave the fire tower draft at the beginning of this post to emphasize how a story may never truly be written as we intended. If my life is a story then what will fill the chapters that bind the book together?You will find no happy ending to the story I am about to tell but I must tell it as best I can to somehow ease my heavy heart. I am confused but not at a loss for words. I seek to find something positive somehow. It begins most simply. I have a lost a new friend who I never truly got to know as well as I planned.

I can’t exactly say when I met the young journeyman wireman Zack at the Lake Placid Olympic Center Revitalization Project. Sometime after the skating oval project wound down and I began to work in the lower level of the Link Project on the hill. I was just working part time by then and Zack was busy pulling the basement area together with the assistance of several other people the day I first began to get to know him. I liked his friendly, open,and honest nature immediately. He explained to me that he wasn’t sure he was getting everything correct. He felt a little unsure about certain aspects of the blue prints. I quickly reassured him that it seemed like he had a good handle on it and sometimes we had to trust our best interpretation of the plans for the best outcome. There is no paved pathway for electrical installation in the crowded confines where we install our conduits, wiring, and all the other devices that make up a modern building. We coordinate with the other trades on the fly in the noisy, dirty environment that is our workplace. It didn’t take me long to realize that Zack was smart and more capable than he wanted to admit. I told him as much at some point that week. Our friendship grew from simple origins as it often does on the construction site. Conversations at break and on the walk to the parking lot at night. I totally blew it one night when I said something in front of him at the end of the shift. I felt terrible about it when a coworker later explained the circumstances. I was absent from the job for a time and wondered how I would ever face Zack again. How would I broach the subject and apologize for my rude comments? Would he even let me?But it is here that his true character would manifest itself. We arrived at the parking area at the same time the next time I worked. Zack immediately said hi and smiled at me! He asked me how things were going. And he taught me something in that moment I later realized. Forgiveness.I decided that I would cut right to the chase as we walked up to the building together. I apologized and he opened up to me with an honesty that amazed me. Many would have never forgiven my comments but he did and I explained that I was so very wrong. It was a humbling experience for me and I realized this young man was someone uniquely special in his openness. Our friendship grew stronger after that and I began to know him much better. I learned he had created his own business and was hoping to launch into something that others might find intimidating. Zack was married and a family man. They had three young children. He had a bright and promising future I felt. I told him as much. He was liked by everyone and always seemed to be smiling! We would catch up when I was on the job and he was always interested in what recent adventures we had embarked upon. Time kept moving forward and winter became spring. Then spring was summer.

Recently I began to see more of Zack as I began to work more frequently. I didn’t have the privilege of being his partner and even seeing him that much. We did walk together quite often to the parking area. He would ask me lots of questions about all sorts of things. I guess he must have valued my opinion. I learned that he liked to write and encouraged him to pursue it further as a way of dealing with stress. We talked about a lot of personal history. Not things that need to be shared here nor are important to share here. We all know that life punches us hard at times. Getting back up for the next round is what matters!I mention his candid confessions to further define his personal character. I told him plenty of my struggles from over the years and the path I hoped to walk as life continued. Despite our differences in age we shared so very much in common. He would always get me to talking! Bad idea as I sometimes inadvertently dominated the conversation. A flaw of mine. I am trying to be better about that. But I know he liked my passion for all things nature. He certainly liked my energy when I got rolling! He never complained and I liked that about him. And then last Thursday. Zack’s final acts of kindness and friendship to me.

I arrived to the job Thursday morning totally frustrated because my phone had no service. I was highly agitated as I needed to contact some people before the shift began and later also. Zack walked in suddenly and stepped up to me with a cheerful greeting. He suddenly told me that I was an inspiration to him! Why I asked? “Because of who you are and what you bring to the job”. “You’ve helped me”.I thanked him for such a generous compliment! He took a second look at me and asked if I was ok. Phone issues I explained. “Use mine today” he said. “Keep it with you all day if you need to.” I sent a quick text with his phone and shortly after my phone started working. We spent a few minutes talking in private and shared some recent personal situations. Something we did on occasion and never in front of everyone. Zack told me of some challenges he was having. I listened quietly and let him vent for awhile. He was excited though that things were working out. He said that he felt that everything was going to be ok. He almost hugged me as we left to begin our work. It turned into a man bump of sorts. I saw him at break and we talked more in private. He seemed very high strung but in a happy,positive way. I wasn’t worried about him at all in that moment as the summer sunshine fell on us. Zack told me he was headed to the beach at Mirror Lake at lunch time for a swim! What a good idea I thought as the sweat soaked my shirt through.All afternoon the rest of the crew was laughing about a video they shot of Zack jumping off a dock into the lake! What a guy I thought! After work several of us walked with Zack to the parking lot. “ Bring your shorts and join in next week” he said with a smile on his face! I laughed and we all said goodbye.

I spend Thursday night at the campsite in typical fashion. I sat by the campfire awhile and mused a few hours away. Phone service is horrible at my site and you never get most calls or messages. I tried to send out a few texts unsuccessfully. I went to bed with no phone service like most nights. I got up Friday morning and checked the time on my phone. A couple of texts had made it through during the night. That happens on occasion . One was from Zack wishing me well and saying that I was in his prayers. He called me brother. Something we call our coworkers when we respect them.I sent him a return text around 11am from Tupper Lake when I had service. I didn’t hear anything back though. Late Friday afternoon I got a group text from my foreman Mike saying he had terrible news! He had heard of a fatal traffic accident and that it may have been Zack. I shocked to my core when I realized it was true. Overwhelmed with emotion when I realized my text was sent hours after the accident. I still don’t know all the details yet. Tomorrow I will be on the job with the rest of the crew searching for answers. I did find out Zack had texted another crew member. Also a friend of both of us. His shock and grief matched mine. We texted back and forth for a time. Tomorrow will be a tough day for the crew.But that’s not where our thoughts should be right now.

It is with Zack’s wife and children that our thoughts and prayers belong. His family and all who loved him. I can’t even begin to know their suffering.It’s a story that has personal meaning as well. Too young was this friend of ours taken. Death is always hard. Accidental death even more so. I find myself stricken with a sudden imbalance of spirit energy. There is nothing positive in the loss of our union brother, coworker, and friend unless it is in the blessings of having known him. To see him smile and hear him laugh. To know how much much he had overcome in life. This young man was special and I will never forget him. He taught me some things that I needed to learn. For that I am thankful and most blessed. I pray my simple words honor him respectfully. I will search for his spirit energy on the mountain tops and say a prayer for his family each time I summit. We just never know.✍️

Days Between Too

Posted on by

I often find it helpful to break stories into two parts. This portion of my adventure revolves around my fishing experience in a remote Adirondack pond I choose to leave nameless. It’s a destination where I encounter few people and rarely other fishermen. I arrived at the pond and was happy to see it was totally calm. Rare as it’s usually tossed by wind driven waves. I noticed a pair of loons immediately and something seemed out of place with one of them. I paddled closer and realized there were two tiny chicks perched on the one loons back! The loon let me get close enough for pictures and I left the family to pursue their loon activities. The one without the babies moved closer despite my peaceful retreat to a respectable distance. It began to get very animated and uttered a series of calls. Fluttering and flapping as though injured it would rise up out of the water before crashing back down. A ruse to divert my attention and I played along. Eventually the loon settled now and came very close to me. The dogs seemed indifferent to its approach and watched with sleepy eyes throughout the performance. I spoke to the loon and tried to mimic its calls. It answered back and we had a small standoff with the loon the clear winner. My attempts to perfect its sounds may have amused it actually. It decided that I was no threat and swam off to rejoin its family. I wondered if snapping turtles were a threat to the babies. I know they reside in the pond as I see them surface occasionally. What I didn’t know then was that a far more dangerous threat also occupied the pond.

I baited my pole with a weedless sienko setup with light sinkers and began trying for largemouth bass in the deeper waters of the lake. The weeds were invisible below the surface but my rig would twitch and tug my rod tip as it raked over them. I prefer to fish with a 7 foot walleye pole equipped with a quick fire open faced reel. My line is a super strong synthetic that is very small in diameter but has incredible breaking strength. It’s my preferred choice for walleye and it great for all around fishing. I wasn’t using a steel leader as it messes with my slow trolling technique. My rubber bait was rigged wacky and why fish find that enticing is beyond me! It was finally underway! Afternoon fishing. Not the best time of day but with the dark sky I felt I had a good chance of getting something. It was more about the chase anyway and the peaceful mental checkout that fishing supplies.

I missed the first nibble and cursed my lack of attention! It wasn’t long though that another fish struck and I was able to set the hook. I brought the bass to the surface quickly and it danced on its tail for a moment. That moment when they often throw the hook. But it was solidly caught and dove back under with another surge of energy. I had it next to the canoe shortly after and was able to successfully net it. Not huge but looked like a keeper. Yup! The start of a fish fry I thought as I stuck it onto the stringer. No easy feat with it fighting me every step of the way. I worked my way around the pond for sometime after that with no action what so ever. I decided to try a section that I usually skip over and was rewarded with a second legal bass for the stringer. I decided to work the deep hole I had found further after my success. A slight breeze had picked up and I needed to steer occasionally to keep my position. I had thrown my bait over the side and let it sink while repositioning the canoe. Things were about to get wild!

The canoe was back in position and I picked my rod back up to begin my retrieve. There was a serious resistance on the line and I thought I was snagged. However I was able to lift the “snag” some so I figured good just a sunken branch. My sunken branch suddenly began to move and I tightened my line more. It’s a fish I suddenly realized! Seconds later my hooked and invisible adversary sped off into deeper water! My pole bent at a crazy angle and my drag screamed off line to accommodate the increased force. It’s a big one I thought! I gently kept pressing on the fish and managed to get some line in but it soon surged off once again. The power being exerted below the surface was incredible and I kept expecting my line to snap. But the drag worked flawlessly each time the fish sped off. Finally the fish began to tire or so it seemed. It sat below the left side of the canoe and I began to bring it up through the dark green waters of the pond. Suddenly I got a glimpse of my prey!Not a huge bass as I had hoped but a northern pike of mind numbing size! It was hooked in the outer portion of its toothy mouth so it hadn’t sheared the line despite my lack of a steel leader. My view of the pike was short lived however. It spotted the canoe and ran down towards the bottom with a fresh urgency. I don’t know exactly how many times the pike ran or how many times I brought it to the surface as seconds turned into minutes. It charged the surface once and surfaced out from the canoe about ten feet. It employed a typical pike fight response as it snaked back and forth on top of the water. Many will be lost to a fisherman when this occurs but a Native American guide had taught me to bury the end of my rod down into the water to force the fish down. It worked and the battle continued. The pike began to weaken further and I soon had it alongside the canoe. The dogs were somewhat alarmed as it splashed and made one final run. Netting it was damn near impossible by myself. It’s head was in the wrong direction so I attempted a tail first netting. Big mistake as it didn’t even come close to fitting! I heaved it up and into the canoe. I was amazed at its huge girth and length! On the floor of the canoe the pike was out of the net and with a huge flop went over the side! Snap! At first I thought my rod was broken but it was just the knot at the hook that I heard. I had failed despite my best attempts! My huge pike would never make it into a photo and never would I get to measure it! I was still pumped from the encounter and disappointment suddenly washed over me. But I quickly shrugged it off as one of those moments that so often occur while fishing.Man what a predator!!

I kept fishing after that on the pond with no further success. The dark clouds released a soaking downpour and I continued fishing huddled in my rain jacket. I kept replaying the battle with the fish and wondered if I had made any mistakes that I should avoid in the future. Yes there was one big mistake! Fishing alone! The same thing had happened to me fishing in my Alumacraft boat on Middle Saranac years ago. A monster pike and a monster battle that ended in a similar fashion. Without someone to help net the fish it’s much more challenging. Perhaps a larger net would have been beneficial. I am not worried about the pike. The hook will dissolve eventually and it’s not down in the gills or other vulnerable soft tissue. I was suddenly struck by a greater worry. The loon babies! My monster pike is big enough to easily swallow them! Nature will prevail I suppose but I hope the loons survive.The big pike will be rested and hungry after our battle. What does he eat in the pond? Pretty much whatever he wants! As for me I returned to the creek and tossed a surface plug above some of the deeper sections. I stopped at a place where a log jam blocks most of the creek. Shaded and deep where the current holds the floating logs. A bass fishing spot if ever there was one. I lodged the canoe on a snag and fired my plug next to the jam. I was rewarded with a large surface strike from a bass. Hooked well and soon brought into the canoe. I felt better after that. Lost in the moment of sights and smells. My small catch of three bass plenty for my fish fry to come with some to freeze for a second meal. The rain and wind picked up as I returned to the campsite. I reflected on the day and all that had happened. No one to witness anything or recount the memories themselves. It only lives here now and in my memories. MOONTABS my friends!✍️

Days Between

Posted on by

July 4th. A holiday for most and certainly a day to celebrate all things American! Freedoms are plentiful in this nation of ours. Sometimes it’s difficult to fathom what’s to become of our great nation as time speeds on. I chose not to wander the paths of politics or government during our time here together. Rather I prefer to find positivity and hope that common sense may prevail. There are many good people who want to enjoy simple freedoms and are content in counting their small blessings. I find myself surrounded by the Happy Campers in these Adirondack state parks. They are frequent visitors to my ADK summer posts!

Looking around just what observations can be made about the Happy Campers? Most noteworthy is the display of positive energy most of the time. The joys of the upcoming stay that people post on social media.The arrival and the inevitable departure. It is weather and uncontrollable circumstances. It is family and friends. Or solitude of peaceful avoidance. It is the grand mental checkout before needing to return to the normal routine. Camp life is elemental and grounding. The ultimate immersion into nature and all the wonders that follow the sun across the sky each day. This is our story. Perhaps it is your story.

To say that taking time to write some days is difficult would be an understatement. I get so caught up in daily camp life and chasing adventures that writing sometimes takes the backseat. More like the trunk actually. Sometimes I can get a few words down during the morning generator slot of 9am to 11am but not very often. Often I will sit by the evening campfire and find inspiration in the events of the day. There have been a lot of challenges in my personal life these past few months. Not mine personally but in the lives of those I care about. It is not information that needs to be shared but it’s important to note that emotions often run high and finding a positive place in the now becomes more important than ever. Finding positivity and counting the small blessings lights a path where you might help others through hardships. Here when living life on the Adirondack clock there are numerous small blessings. The five senses are sharper and life takes on a certain clarity. And if the moment is right you may suddenly be swept away by the mysterious sixth sense. It is invisible and powerful. It is when your spirit energy syncs with nature and you feel part of something so much bigger than your own existence. It’s something that I wish I could gift to those with heartache and infinite sorrow. If only I could enter the circle of natural cycle and never leave. Perhaps it would no longer be so meaningful or healing. It here the questions begin. What could I be doing different? Should I grasp for a simpler life with a minimalistic mindset? Or should I trust an inner compass and enjoy the forward momentum. Reflections. I found something in the reflections of the forest yesterday on a quiet Adirondack pond while fishing in my canoe with the dogs. Perhaps I would do better by paddling you through yesterday’s adventure!

Tuesday morning I woke to the tapping of raindrops on the Airstream roof well before dawn. By the time I stated my morning coffee perking it was obvious that light rain was going to settle in and stay. Pulling up the weather on my phone is impossible as service is never very good here at Fish Creek. I was eager to fish so after I completed my morning routine I dressed warmly and donned my rain jacket. The dogs could have cared less about the rain and they happily jumped into the front of the canoe. We were across the pond from the inlet of Fish Creek itself and it took a few minutes to paddle to the entrance. The rain stopped and heavy gray clouds threatened to release more. It was very calm however and that was a huge plus for a fishing adventure. We made good time and soon passed the sign that reads “special waters”. No motorized boats are allowed past that point. It is also here that the campsites are left behind. The setting becomes lush and swampy with numerous lily pads and aquatic growth. The creek widens into a narrow pond of some size. The forest is thick and lines the banks on all sides. Tamaracks grow right out into the shallows but remain small as if the water impacts their growth.As the noise of the campground falls behind you immediately notice the bird songs. Chickadees and oven birds compete back and forth. The trumpet-like calls of the veery echo on all sides. But it is one birdsong that lifts my spirit energy! The white throated sparrow! My favorite of all birdsongs! To hear their signature song is to step backwards in time and remember trips to the Canadian bush fishing years ago.The forests are full of them there and they greet the dawn each day with energetic purpose. They live here in the Adirondacks but are fewer in number. Their songs will never fail to bring me into the now. The count of small blessings begins! To recognize the significance of even being in this beautiful place is the first and many follow.My connection to nature suddenly takes on a different perspective.The paddle continues and we enter the connector creek. Our destination grows nearer!

I have written of the connector creeks that are part of the Fish Creek waterway in several different posts. Winding and twisting in a medley of depths they are a most unique setting. The forest muffles any man made sounds from the distance and birds supply the backdrop. There are numerous fallen trees but the creek is maintained so the route is always passable. What really stands out here are the forest scents! Balsam and hemlock fill the air with a nostril enticing mixture. The lush scent of all things green is tantalizingly fresh after the recent rain. As for the rain? It had stopped and I was looking forward to fishing under cloudy skies. It’s never as productive in the afternoons on sunny days it seems. The dark and overcast sky might aid in my endeavors. The creek suddenly became wider as the first of the ponds appeared. It was almost time to begin drifting and trying for fish! ( to be continued)

Conclusions

Posted on by

Life at Rollins Pond ticks along and it’s already Tuesday. Sunday was a pretty laid back day overall. A trip to town for a couple things, laundry, and some Wi-Fi to launch a couple blog posts. It was a total scorcher so some quality beach bum time was in order after. Pretty typical day of camp life routine. Meals, dishes, and an evening campfire. But a storm was brewing on the horizon.

I can’t say exactly what time the rain started but eventually a heavy downpour was hammering so hard on the Airstream roof that sound sleep was out of the question. It’s like drums above your head. Tiny pine cones were pinging off the roof also. The storm lasted for several hours and by morning had passed. But there were plenty of signs of copious runoff. On the way to Tupper Lake on Route 30 a highway crew was attempting to drain a flooded section of highway. Plugged culvert it appeared. The temperature had dropped from the eighties of Sunday down into the sixties. A northern born breeze kept things on the chilly side throughout most of the day. Much of the day was spent running down to the valley to grab Zane and Gracie. We did a few odd jobs and then returned to the campsite for a late dinner. Pretty uneventful day of the usual camp chores. I have reached the conclusion that camp life demands a certain amount of attention each day regardless of what activities we hope to pursue. No new revelation there. Just a more focused observation.

Tuesday dawned rather cloudy and a few tiny rain drops fell in my morning coffee. 9am is generator time and I usually do some other chores while the batteries are charging. Zane was sleeping in and I was trying to decide the best activity for the day. Paddling was a given. We had decided that Monday night before bed. I decided to consult our map this time before heading out like the last time.Long Pond would be our end destination. We would reach it via the Rollins outlet into Floodwood then an overland carry of 1373 meters on a trail of unknown condition. The weather remained cool and cloudy but sometimes the sun would pop through for a minute. I was dressed in layers and really didn’t plan on going into the water at any point during the day. Zane and I packed light with only cold beverages. Having both Stella and Gracie in the canoe adds quite a bit of weight to our payload. The trip down through and across Floodwood was pretty casual and we made excellent time. I decided to take Zane up the tiny creek I had explored Saturday. Pretty rugged he decided and we turned back towards the canoe carry. The carry was rather easy for me actually with Zane handled the dogs and the paddles. The mosquitoes were a little bothersome though especially when my hands were occupied carrying the canoe. Our Old Town Pathfinder is 13 feet 10 inches in length and weighs around 74 lbs. It has a carry yoke and balances well. No problem for me still after many years. Zane still prefers not to carry it so I typically get the job. We passed a beaver pond part way into the carry that I believe is actually listed on the map as Anniversary Pond. Still not clear on that at the moment but it fits the location. We reached Long Pond shortly after and I felt like it had been less of a carry than I had originally expected. The sun had returned and we were at our destination!

We weren’t sure what direction we wanted to explore but I had noticed a creek in the valley just below the carry as we approached the pond. It looked very similar to the creek that I had followed Saturday. We headed towards the sound of moving water and discovered what we believed was the outlet of Long Pond. Having studied the map it now made perfect sense. This might very well be my creek! I suddenly began to consider heading back down it on the return trip. Zane was hesitant at first but I began to perk his interest when I mentioned the sluice way that most likely was down the creek if we traveled it. We continued exploring the pond and locating the various primitive campsites along its vast shoreline. Hardly a pond and definitely long I feel that it’s more like a lake. Plenty of dark water of unknown depth with numerous bays and points. There were a few occupied campsites and several other paddlers poking around in the distance. Rather isolated and a place a person could easily find some privacy if that was an objective. The afternoon was moving along and we decided to tackle the outlet. I mentioned to Zane that I was going to keep track of the impassable obstacles that blocked our way downstream. The outlet started out easy to navigate. So old chop marks were evidence that someone had once maintained this waterway at some point. Shortly after we reached obstacle number one. So it was climb out and pull the canoe over. The creek’s current suddenly began to increase dramatically and there were no obstacles in sight. We picked up speed and soon found ourselves in some tiny rapids. Zane was shooting a video while I tried to steer our way through. It was a bumpy ride and we hit several rocks that I feared may have scratched the canoe bottom but there was no way to stop our headlong race down the fast moving creek. We spun sideways and the front end of the canoe caught on a large boulder. Water poured into the canoe and we nearly went over! I jumped out into the fast moving current and got the canoe back in motion. Suddenly we were through the tiny rapids! The obstacles began again shortly after and the count continued to rise. I suddenly recognized where I was when we hit a section of navigable creek for a short distance. Gracie was out of the canoe at this point and either running the bank or swimming behind us. She had nearly gotten run over shortly after the rapids and was almost sucked under a large log blocking the creek. Something that I had feared might happen. We kept Stella safely inside the canoe but I think the whitewater had frightened her a little. Zane was in and out of the canoe the same as me depending on the obstacles. He was in the canoe with me when suddenly the 1927 sluiceway appeared. We had made it and proved what I suspected. Enter the conclusion of what had been unknown.

After that we struggled through the remainder of the obstacles and reached Floodwood shortly after. We were getting bit by numerous deer flies in the swampy section just before the pond. The canoe was filthy and I had no dry clothing at all. My phone survived in its waterproof case as did Gracie’s dog control collar and transmitter. We paddled back as quickly as we could to boost our body temperatures. The sun came out full force and we were laughing about our adventure! At a the campsite Zane showed me portions of his video. Very entertaining!The language is a bit raw however as the whole event was filmed as it unfolded. No staging or retakes. It was one of those days that seem to find Zane and I. Make a simple plan and then something shows itself.I suppose that I am the instigator of much of situations we get into. But it’s a rush of spontaneous endeavor and possibilities. I do love a good thrill! Not to mention the strange need to see what lies beyond and between. On the creek we encountered no one. We were the wilderness explorers of that forested valley. Not many travel here and with good reason. There are some 63 obstacles that impend the creek I call Paradise. There was no folly in today’s adventure. Only memorable moments. MOONTABS!

As for conclusions there are several to be found I decided as I basked in the sun on our campsite beach after getting dried out. One is the knowledge that we are blessed to be having these times together. Zane is growing up. Soon he will be a high school senior. My conclusion is that time passes quickly and we must make it count. As large and fluffy white clouds slowly passed over me while I sat on the beach I reached another conclusion. The magic of the clouds themselves which we grow so accustomed to seeing throughout our lives. What would we think about them if we were to suddenly see them for the first time? There is a place of deep reflection in those billowing white clouds and in their changing shapes. As for my final conclusion that I wish to share here, it would have to be this now that I have placed us in. Very different then so many nows that I have known. Task and time are different here as days run into each other. Tomorrow is the final full day on this Rollins Pond campsite for now. Another campsite awaits on Thursday. I am weary and the campfire begins to burn low. Edits? Not a chance tonight.✍️

The Continuation

Posted on by

Part of the fun of camping on waterways is the prospect of exploring new areas with relative ease. Rollins Pond offers some unique paddling opportunities we have discovered.Today’s was no exception. It was more then I expected before it was finally over. It’s worth telling if only to keep others from following my route of arduous folly!

The adventure I had decided upon was actually a continuation of some exploration I had done one cool,rainy day in August of 2021. Zane and I had gotten familiar with the Rollins Pond outlet paddle down into Floodwood Pond after we paddled the “loop” one sunny day while camping last summer. It’s a fun trek with two short carries that I would rate easy. The paddle starts at Rollins Pond continues into Floodwood Pond then down the narrow connector to Little Square Pond. From Little Square the loop takes you into Copperas Pond. At the far end of Copperas you will find the first carry which takes you to Whey Pond. The second carry brings you to the Rollins Pond boat launch. From there you paddle back to your site. There are plenty of secluded spots where you can get out and take a break,swim, or casually drift into back waters. The proximity of the forest will reward the paddler with plentiful birdsongs and wonderful evergreen scents. There’s nothing like a whiff of balsam to enhance the already heightened senses.The water has a somewhat organic smell that’s difficult to describe. Not unpleasant just something you notice immediately in the narrow sections of the connectors. My exploration last August took me in a different direction then the loop.But first a previous noteworthy adventure of a similar nature. Some lessons are never learned!

It happened on our first ever camping trip to Rollins Pond last summer. We knew that Rollins connected to Floodwood but were uncertain of the route. I decided to skip checking the map. It will be more fun! I told Zane! I like the mystery of the unknown.We spotted a large culvert draining in the lower section of Rollins Pond and assumed that it led to our destination. It was challenging to get the canoe through the culvert but totally fun! Carrying it up and over the old railway bed was the only other option anyway. Once through the culvert the waterway became very weedy and difficult to navigate. We encountered three other paddlers so we assumed that we were going in the right direction. The waterway suddenly began to narrow down becoming difficult for paddling. The other paddlers disappeared so we assumed they must have turned back. The first of what would later become several beaver dams needed to be crossed. The ponds behind the dams made paddling easier so that was a plus.We forced Gracie our dog into the water as it was getting tedious dragging her extra weight along. She swam and swamp cruised the highly vegetated shoreline often out of our sight. We had no trouble hearing her however as she splashed her way through the thick swamp growths. The entire place had a jungle like appearance. Huge aquatic plants and tall,lush grasses. Bogs and small wetland brush. Lily pads covered some sections of the shallow ponds behind the beaver dams. It was wonderland of quietness and we suddenly started to wonder if we were going in the right direction. There were old chop marks where someone had cleared a path through at some unknown time. We encountered a man made footbridge that we assumed was used by hunters. It was tough paddling and we were expending a fair amount of energy moving forward. The waterway suddenly opened up and split just before a large pond appeared. I was keeping track of the time and mentally calculating the time that we would need to turn back before dark. It would be close if we didn’t reach something soon. We paddled up into the pond that I soon realized wasn’t Floodwood. Too small and there was nothing I recognized. We turned back to the split and headed up against the current. We soon encountered more beaver dams and the stream itself became ice cold. The beaver pond ended and we found ourselves at the end of any discernible waterway to paddle. We decided to turn back. Heading back was tough on our spirits having not reaching our goal but there was nothing else to do. We were muddy,wet, and scratched up from the brushy narrow spots. Eventually we reached the culvert and with some difficulty made our way back into Rollins Pond. Back at the camp we checked the map stashed in the camper. Epic fail to reach Floodwood! We had made our way up into Rock Pond we soon learned. But it was quite the adventure into a place few people seem to go.Wild and quiet. The kind of place that later you realize was worth the effort. True Adirondacks. We laughed about it later after the bug bites and scratches healed.

Here begins the true continuation.It was Saturday and I was alone with only Stella the dog for company. I felt like I needed a break from the noisy,busy surroundings of the campsite. Civilized camping comes with some conditions.For our adventure I decided to push further up the creek that empties in Floodwood that I had discovered last August in the hopes of finding a hidden pond or lake.I had gone up it a short distance but the pouring rain had finally chilled me so I felt it wise to turn back.Saturday the forecast was hot and dry. The perfect sort of day to explore. I knew the creek would be challenging but I had no clue to what degree. Getting there was pleasant enough. I spotted an osprey diving down to grab a fish but it appeared to miss the target. There were plenty of other paddlers around but everyone was spread out given the size of the ponds. I reached the mouth of the creek and hopped out for some photos. I waded up for a while getting past some small beaver dams but the water got deep in spots so I paddled as long as I was able. I suddenly came across a couple in a canoe much to my surprise. I asked the young man where did the creek go but he didn’t know or if it even was passable. He did say I would reach a bridge where a road crossed. Stella and continued upstream passing under the bridge shortly after. A truck pulling a trailer load of canoes crossed the bridge filling the forest with noisy echoes. The creek soon became choked with fallen trees but it appeared that someone had forced their way through at some point. Encouraged I pressed forward dragging the canoe along with Stella adding weight that wasn’t a problem at that moment. It was a lovely setting despite the fallen trees and shallow water. Balsam scents filled the air and everything was fresh from all the recent rainfall. Large pines and hemlocks pressed in upon the narrow stream. The current was rather swift and the creek flowed with a melody of natural forces. I was becoming a little frustrated with the constant obstacles however.Some were huge trees and often several were interconnected in a maddening tangle. I no longer suspected that other paddlers had been through ahead of me. I began to seriously wonder just how far did this meandering Creek continue? We pressed on with stubborn fervor. I decided to let Stella wade beside me. She got smart and ran along the shoreline. Quitting wasn’t an option I was entertaining at the moment. I suppose I could write many more words about our struggle up the creek but if you can picture the maze of fallen timber, shallow water, and the efforts of dragging the canoe then that pretty much covers it!However there was a positive facet of the mission! Quiet, pristine forest all to myself! A babbling brook where few venture. The deer flies and mosquitoes were a slight inconvenience but they weren’t too bad. The brook contained small fish that were difficult to identify in the current. Trout perhaps? I rounded a bend in the creek and was suddenly rewarded with a magnificent sight! A concrete sluiceway under what must have been a railway or road. There was an old battered sign that stated canoe access only. Strange. Getting through the sluiceway was difficult but we managed. The sluice way was inscribed with the date 1927. Whoever had constructed it had taken pride in their craftsmanship. We pressed beyond with a refreshed determination.For a time the creek was a little easier to wade and I became encouraged that I would soon reach something. But it became shallower and choked with deadfalls once again. I was becoming somewhat fatigued and with a heavy heart decided to scrap the adventure. Stella and I got a thrilling ride down through the sluiceway shortly after. We climbed up the steep grade and discovered what I recognized as the old railway bed. After that we plowed our way back to Floodwood and paddled back to the campsite. I was shot! I got out my maps and studied the route had taken. I had been close to reaching ponds but how close will remain a mystery for now. The map shows splits in the creek that I never saw. It shows two sluiceways under the old railway. The questions remain for the moment. Should I return and press beyond? I think I will present it to Zane when he arrives Monday. I think the draw of ripping through the sluice way a few times might seal the deal!And I might not mention all those many deadfall’s! I will leave out a few! ✍️