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Life Stories

Bush Cabin 5:Branching Out

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Settled Into Bush Life: The Third Mouse Gets The Cheese

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Forgotten Ones

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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

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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.✍️

Summer Begins

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It’s been a busy time these past couple weeks. Lots of details in our modern lives to attend to as most people would agree. I made a grueling trip to Buffalo with the Airstream for its annual checkup at my dealer near Orchard Park. It was a long day that started early at 4am and finished at 10 pm when I returned. The interstate is a wild place to spend 10 hours driving. Even after a layover.The magnitude of the energy it takes to keep us all in motion is rather mind boggling to me. Out on the road with all the other vehicles I realize that perhaps this way of life we enjoy will no longer be possible at some point. The traffic on the interstates runs 24/7 and that thought itself makes my head spin!Gasoline prices have shot up dramatically in recent months. Traveling with the Airstream will come with a steeper price tag. It’s not something I hadn’t considered before purchasing it. It’s just a new reality of cost per destination. And so enters the revised summer plan.

Jen had booked us time at Rollins Pond beginning June 20th and running till June 30th. I sit here on the campsite beach tapping out this post while the busy lives of Happy Campers fill the air with sound. Conversations that carry from nearby campsites. A mix of French and English on this particular site. There’s barking dogs and gleefully screaming children. A late running generator grinds along with steady precision. I turned our suitcase Honda off early and will rely on the Zamp solar charger to power up the batteries till later today. It’s a nice addition to our boondocking set up. Out in front on the pond there is a constant procession of paddlers going by. My neighbors left to do some fishing and I expect they will be gone most of the day again. Nice young men and very polite when I met them Thursday night. I offered them an extension cord to power their trolling motor battery charger yesterday while I was charging the batteries during the evening generator time slot. They were used their truck inverter and needing to run the engine. I figured why have them waste their gas? They were thrilled that I offered. Being a good neighbor makes a difference when surrounded by other campers. Last year one of neighbors used to start my generator while I was still at work. It was a grand act of kindness I felt so I bought them a gift certificate to a local Italian restaurant in Tupper Lake. Out front the pond remains calm under mostly sunny skies. Stella the dog guards the campsite from red squirrels and chipmunks while a feeding fish surfaces very close to me. The day is getting well underway. Time to make a solid plan for a paddling adventure! But first a glimpse at our new summer strategy.

Jen follows the campground cancellations closely and has managed to book us some rather substantial Adirondack camping time. We will be spending it between Fish Creek and Rollins Pond. I will need to move the Airstream several times in a roving cycle of days. It’s actually handy as I will use the move days to hit the dumping station and refill the water tank. We scrapped our proposed New England/Canada trip due to circumstances beyond our control. I can’t mention those circumstances here but wanted to emphasize the importance of making quick decisions and landing on our feet. For me it’s all about the importance of using the travel trailer to its fullest potential. Things are flexible and I have the ability to work part time at the Lake Placid Olympic Center Revitalization Project again this summer. So it’s a bit of a free for all as we move forward. Life throws so many unexpected challenges our way and some people seem to get more then others. I hope to find a quiet getaway today where I can reflect and find a place of positivity to move forward. I go to find those things that nature has placed for me to discover. The Adirondacks are becoming a second home to it seems as I spend more and more time here. Camp life is filled with small task and flows with a daily rhythm. Coexistence is a big part of this camp life. Not all neighbors are polite and respectful unfortunately. The water beckons and it’s time to get moving! ✍️

The Turn Of Thoughts

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We approach the middle of February and last night on the long drive home from Lake Placid I had plenty of time to think. My work there is only part time now since December. That’s fine with me because I have more time to write and get caught up on some of the things I let slide. Speaking of time it’s become a frequent subject of discussion with a young coworker of mine on the project. In his late twenties his perception of it is noteworthy given my obsession with it. Despite the differences in our ages we walk common ground when discussing time and how we choose to manage it. We also shared thoughts on memories or lack there of sometimes. The realization that we can’t remember everything and certain things are lost in the haze of busy existence. I exposed him to the blog the other day. I then encouraged him to consider writing private life journals as a way of preserving his own memories. I kept hand written journals for years. (long before the creation of this blog and the very public sharing of my personal life).Just before beginning this post I did a quick review of my previously published titles and content.Time is a reoccurring subject and one I mention rather often. Some of my followers have told me they enjoy the stories of my life on the farm and roaming the forests of Macomb as a boy. For me those stories bring back many memories! I hope to continue to blend the old with the new this year as the seasons bring the different tasks and hobbies into play. A warm stretch of weather these past few days has certainly aided in turning my thoughts to the upcoming syrup season. Mid February does that to me regardless of temperature typically. I begin to consider those activities of winter that must be experienced before syrup season begins or they will need to wait till next winter. That’s a fact of time.There’s a certain energy in the sunshine now that can’t be denied or ignored. Dripping icicles and tiny rivulets of runoff that begin to flow bring a certain expectation to lovers of producing maple syrup. It’s almost that time of year again! I wrote several posts last year about sugaring if you haven’t read them. I will no doubt take a path of redundancy again this spring writing about sugaring. I suppose that I am trying to set a stage of sorts. One where the actors perform a yearly tradition. If asked what my message might be I would have to say that it’s one of the magic of seasonal transition and the power it brings to my now. Something that I have written about many times. Something real that can’t be bottled or sold. Something elemental in its simplicity and interconnected with nature as only certain experiences can be. If this seems like my same old story it’s because it is! There is a solid positive energy in traditional hobby and task. In a world of ever changing circumstances there is comfort in the approach of sugaring. Predictable to a degree yet still very variable. As I enter the forest as part of a daily routine I will find peace there despite the physical challenges the weather may bring. Or the challenges of life itself. I learned this fact of time most painfully once. The year 2007 was to be the final syrup season that I would share with my father although I didn’t know it at the start. I was busy with balancing the realities of time. A household, a young son, and my barn wood salvage business. Being able to help my father with the annual syrup season was a big part of why I wanted to be self employed in the first place. It was a time thing make no mistake of it. I temporarily left construction suddenly in March of 2006 after becoming ill with a double lung infection from breathing fire proofing all winter on an inside project. The year from March 2006 to March 2007 was a year that I will never forget! Freedom and a new lifestyle where I chased a dream of controlling time. I had done it! Taken control of time! But life is never that simple it seems. That year changed me though. So many great memories and then those I would like to forget. My father began to have some changes in health in the winter of 2007. It started with some strange accidents and memory quirks at times. But things were pretty normal for the most part. We tapped trees in mid March as was our custom but my father was not feeling all that great and went to his doctor. He underwent some tests soon after.He was fearful of dementia he told me one day while we were working together. His sudden changes in mental state were a concern. And then the fateful day. I was boiling sap in the evaporator and could see him walking towards the sugar house. He seemed bent over and I knew something wasn’t quite right. He stepped into the sugar house and we exchanged some simple banter about the quality of the syrup or subjects of that nature. He surprised me suddenly with an sudden outburst. “ I have good news! I don’t have Alzheimer’s! But I do have brain tumors. Two of them on one side of my head.They don’t know much more than that right now.” To this day I can’t remember what I said to him then. But I will never forget my sudden thoughts. I knew at that moment that we would be losing our father. Me a trusted friend. My son his grandfather. I know it sounds very negative but I was being painfully honest with myself. There were times in the coming weeks when I would be hopeful and positive. The doctors would operate and cure him we prayed. But lose him we did by the middle of June. To honor him I wrote my first ever rhyming story “For Pop”-A son’s story of life. And just like that, the aspiring writer in me began to evolve. Why do I share such a sad personal story? Because of time. It is not certain and not without circumstances. It is not guaranteed. I am forever thankful for whatever force told me to become self employed in 2006. The time that I shared with my father that year and into 2007 cannot be altered by any circumstances.It was carved out with deed not words of wishful thinking. I ultimately returned to construction for another 10 years but never again questioned my drive to manipulate time itself. As for what followed in 2009 when cancer was found in my body?Life would take on new meaning and purpose. Time would be on my side throughout that fateful journey. As in “they found my cancer in time to rid my body of it”. And in these moments of my present now I know of several who wrestle greatly with time and much more.Just how much remains for them? A stark reality for all who love them.All this may seem dark and cloudy in the face of a large storm. I apologize. It is not dark to me. It is just very real that’s all. Immortality is not a gift of natural world nor should it be considered.Acknowledging our own mortality need not be dark or foreboding . It’s rather the opposite really. It’s that chance for us to truly reflect on our choices for today and for tomorrow. How best to spend our time and are we happy with our choices. It’s about saying why not do that? Why wait? Why not take that vacation or visit that person? There’s not always a clear path in front of us. It’s not always easy to make the best choices or recognize them as the best ones. For me the answers may be found staying in motion I have decided. Chasing the seasons of nature and finding the magic hidden in each one of them. For time and love are greatly connected I feel. That’s a tough one to explain. If you took the time to read this far thank you! After all I took the time to write it for you! I promise a fun story soon! I simply ask you to reflect on time today and find the small blessings that surround you. ✍️

The Return

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One of my favorite locations in the Adirondacks would have to be Bog River. It’s a location rich in history and a rather frequent subject of my writing. After paddling and camping there since 1998 I’d have to say it has a rich history for me as well. My administrator Gerry Washburn took a Facebook post of mine and used it for my first blog post. Simply titled Bog River Flow it told a small story. One Jennifer would enter some twenty years later when I took her there for a paddle in the fall of 2018. We return there a couple times a year since and have made some fabulous MOONTABS together! Last fall’s beaver interaction will be a memory that I shall cherish forever! There’s a certain energy that can be found there on an autumn day. A myriad of colors and scents as the daylight shortens each day. The beaver set a pace of urgency that a writer could lose him or herself in easily when entering their habitat. The beaver of Bog River Flow represent a constant. In harmony with the location itself. Perhaps that is the message I seek to bring to the reader. The lands and waterways of the Bog River Flow have changed little since my first foray there in August of 1998.What first brought me to this special place? Fish. The lure of big largemouth bass. Coworkers told me of camping there and catching fish. I was an avid angler in 1998 and drawn to the waters of the Adirondacks which were mostly unknown to me at that time. If you follow my posts you already know of my love of camping. The unknown expanses begged exploration. Summer was waning and Labor Day weekend was close when I decided to go for the very first time. It’s a story unto itself as I often write. Ones I promise to tell but sometimes fail to get together. But life moves forward quickly and other adventures take precedence. My stories are firmly secure in my memory and in the deeds of the past. They are much like an old jean jacket that I once owned. Faded but still very much something I treasured. Once again I take you the reader far from my path of intended subject! Perhaps I seek to paint the backdrop of a large and colorful canvas. One spanning decades now and a recent return to that treasured place of constant. This is a short story of this summer and three days of camping with good friends. It all started with a group message from my best bud Lawrence’s son Ryan. Ryan had some history of his own at Bog River Flow after camping with his Dad and us years ago. A mutual friend Greg had also joined us there several times. Ryan desired a reunion camping trip of sorts if we could organize one and get everyone together. Dates were chosen and penciled in on calendars. Easy for me the retiree and my student summer vacation son Zane. More challenging but doable for my working friends with a little careful planning on their end. As is often the fashion with a group of guys, the dates were chosen and little discussion followed for some time. As the dates closed in the details were finalized with a casual exchange of texts. This was nothing new to us. Greg,Lawrence, and I had a history of camping together. One that spanned more years than I cared to remember actually. We were the seasoned veterans of Adirondack camping trips. The bushmen of remote Canadian lakes. Our gear no doubt still carrying traces of those dusty logging roads that had taken us far from our normal routines. We had planned and organized. Cursed those things we forgot and thanked our buddies who had packed extra. We were more than friends having shared so very much over the years.We were coworkers at times. Tied to each other with family events and sorrow. We knew each other so very well and had the trust of years of friendship. We were the Band of Brothers. Our sons had joined in and enjoyed the so called “man trips”. All manners of shelter and conveniences or lack there of as was often the case. It was of little consequence for us thinking back. We adapted to the circumstances with a group energy of cooperation.We worked together as a collective drawing on each other’s particular talents and skills. We rarely argued despite our occasional differences of opinion. It was teamwork and mutual respect. That place of finding niches and occupying them with the attitude of benefiting the group objectives. We made MOONTABS that are secure in their timeline for ever more. This was our history. There was no need to overthink the packing and planning. We could assign simple lists and know that everyone would do their job. Solid foundations make for sturdy structures. Little more need be said of our planning. The weather for the day of our departure proved favorable which was a big surprise as this summer has been less than dry. We picked a time to meet at the lower dam access point and hoped parking would be available. It’s a bit crowded at times and tough to get a vehicle off the narrow gravel road that leads to a small parking lot. Zane and I were a little behind schedule that Monday morning and arrived to find the others already there unloading their camping gear. We exchanged some quick greetings and began to unload in earnest. There were some other paddlers filling up the small section of beach just above the dam where we would launch once it was open. We staged our gear just above them and as our piles grew so did my anxiety. Six guys,a dog,and all that gear needed to fit into two canoes for the most part. The two small kayaks would carry some of it but it seemed like a Herculean task next to the pile of gear!As the other paddlers began to depart, Zane and I placed our canoe on the beach’s edge near our stash of gear. We loaded our gear easily into our sixteen foot Old Town that is actually called the “Camper” model.We assisted the rest of group after and even added some of their gear into our canoe.Lawrence has a large seventeen foot aluminum canoe that is capable of holding a lot of gear fortunately. But the problems multiplied quickly when it became apparent that much of their gear was packed into plastic totes of various sizes. We had some of our gear in totes as well but much less of it.The rounded,narrow sides of canoes don’t favor large,bulky rectangular objects. Loose,flexible packages fit in well around the totes and coolers. Lawrence’s canoe soon began to resemble an ocean bound cargo container ship as the plastic totes began to pile up.A revolving debate ensued as several different packing attempts took on the appearance of a geometric table top game. Zane and I continued to add gear onto our already well loaded canoe after cautious deliberation. Eventually I was forced to refuse any further infusion of awkwardly shaped camping gear and suggested to Zane a test paddle in shallow water. Once the dog had settled we found ourselves a little off balance but seaworthy to a degree. Our destination was over a mile away and balance would be key!Ryan and his cousin Matthew easily floated in their lightweight kayaks. It all was coming down to that critical moment when Greg and Lawrence would attempt their launch. Zane and I sat a short distance away watching it all play out.The final countdown! Mission control we have a launch! They are floating and in motion! No wait! Abort mission! They have turned back! We paddled back to find them unloading the canoe once again. Only one viable decision remained after that. A second trip would be necessary. So gear was stacked on shore and our small flotilla headed upstream finally. Shortly after leaving the small reservoir by the dam behind the river chokes down into a narrow channel with the forest rising high above on both sides. It’s somewhat dark and cool there even on a sunny morning. The scents hit you with a sudden clarity. The rich evergreen smells of balsam and pine mixed with the slightly organic scent of water as your paddle slices through it. I always take a moment to let it all sink in at this point. The trip is solidly underway and adventure waits for us upstream on the pond known as Hitchin’s. We hoped to find an open campsite there that could accommodate our group. We passed the earlier group of paddlers who had stopped to consult their map. We moved along quite quickly given our well laden watercraft sitting low in the water. I took Zane through a couple lily pad covered shortcuts to save a little paddling and we kept pace with the group easily. The river widened into a wide swampy series of small ponds in a couple spots before we reached the old railroad trestle. I don’t know the history of the railroad but it’s being made into a trail system now. It’s ties and tracks removed recently.It’s never been used in the years I’ve paddled there. I’ve always thought of it as the halfway point of the paddle but will bear no responsibility to accuracy of that statement. Some time later I began to feel the constant paddling begin to tire my arms some and called on Zane to “bend into it!”. I’ve used a kayak paddle to paddle a canoe for many years now. It’s a great workout and I find it very effective. As we passed the final corner just before the pond itself I looked for the high ledges that sit off to the west. Also a constant of the flow. They always invoke a certain feeling in me that I can’t truly explain. I always look back at them on the return trip as well. A time and earthly constant connection perhaps that defies words but touches a spirit nerve. It’s one of those “if only” moments.If only I could pass that feeling into you. The rise of rock beyond the forest where sky and clouds meet with picturesque perfection. We float and paddle far below under those open skies.It’s a point where I truly enter the adventure. We have entered a realm of natural beauty and now seek out our short term home. The entire area is beautiful but the pond setting pulls everything together. We gazed up the pond hoping to find our favorite site vacant and sent Ryan ahead to scout it out for us. A second closer site was available if necessary but we deemed it too small for the group if we wished to have plenty of space.It wasn’t too long before we heard Ryan’s shout of conquest! He had secured the site.The group soon reached the gravel beach just below the site. It’s actually part of an old road that served some purpose during the years of the Low’s Dynasty. There are a couple beaver ponds that lie just behind the old road. The culvert under the road plugged and deserted years ago. I read that one of the ponds was actually a bass pond that was constructed as part of the Low’s compound for the guests of the fishing lodge. Apparently it breached and the bass were released into Hitchin’s Pond. Ultimately to decimate the trout population. Our campsite sat further up the old road in a clearing that offers a spectacular view of the pond. Well trodden and used often by campers firewood is extremely scarce in the forest there. The previous campers had left some ridiculously large logs that they had attempted to burn unsuccessfully. Of no concern to me as I had already spotted some much better and readily available wood nearby. A previous camper had constructed a crude table next to a tree. It was rather cleverly constructed using some imported plywood and beaver sticks. Apparently they had planned for some sort of construction.

Time and Task

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People who know I write often ask me why I still haven’t published my first book. That’s an easy one to answer! Taz-mania! I have felt that other plans for the MOONTABS evolution needed to come first. In fact if it hadn’t been for my administrator Gerry Washburn’s nudging you wouldn’t even be reading this! I mentioned creating a blog and he made it happen rather quickly! The “homework” assignments that he gave me several months ago are still incomplete in fact! I’d better get them on a list. There’s an interesting story in my struggle to balance time and task. Rather life long when I truly begin to ponder it. There’s also my own personal bewilderment as too how I managed time during my many years of working. The questions begin to add up with sometimes frightening self conjured speculation!Is the older,retired me slowing down? What if I do? Is that a bad thing? Have I lost my ability to manage time properly? Where exactly am I spending my time each day? I don’t think there’s a simple answer for any of those questions! The best example might be comparing myself to a hydroelectric facility.It’s not as crazy as it sounds! Let me try to explain! When thoughts of time and task begin to back up in my mental reservoir it’s time to clear the grating that covers the entrance to the penstock of a dam. That dam is holding back thousands (millions?)of gallons of water. (I read that the average person has about 70 thousand thoughts per day!) There’s a lot of potential energy stored there right? Getting that potential energy into the penstock and down to the turbines is the key to generating electricity.That’s the goal of hydroelectric production. Budgeting time can be compared to that.If the penstock doesn’t have flowing water the turbines don’t spin. No electricity gets produced. The water just gets released over the dam’s overflow wall.Thinking of it as being wasted is negative.Time is our water. Our strength and energy are connected to time. How we choose to use it is the key to exactly what we’re capable of producing. Our time can get diverted sometimes before it even reaches the dam. That’s a little more complicated then I am willing to try and explain right now. Let’s throw this into your reservoir instead. Ask yourself this simple question: Do you ever question the passage of time? Have you ever? Sometimes we can only see that “time is money”. We’ve all heard that. When I refer to generating my electricity it doesn’t represent money. Balance is the best word.That place where you give of your time and energy yet find time for yourself. It’s going to take some deeds and positive action to fully bring this subject into the light of comprehension.If you’re swimming frantically right about now trying not to drown in the murky waters of Lake Taz-mania don’t panic! This post is merely a shallow dive. The waters quite warm actually.We’re going to attempt to make this journey fun! Learn something along the way. Get other peoples perspective and hear their stories. On the shore of the reservoir you may see yourself in a reflection on the surface. An early blog post of mine was titled “It’s About Time”.As short and sweet as they come. When I wrote it many things hadn’t happened yet but now they have come and gone. Situations and circumstances have changed quickly. Decisions have been made and followed through with little or no hesitation. Other decisions have taken hours of deliberation. People I know are facing new and difficult moments on their rivers of life. These are dark days for some and I must ask myself tough questions at times. Can my electricity light my way forward? Can it comfort or help others?Can the spinning turbines of Taz energy make a difference? How will I react to the low waters that arrive if there’s a drought? There are no easy answers. But this day of summer awaits me with plentiful daylight. We have a plan of how we’re going to spend our time today. It’s that “power of the now” I embrace these days for its simplicity of action. I started out to write of my latest plan for MOONTABS.It’s called MOONTABS In Motion. The fork in the road has been passed now. We punched the gas and went straight ahead into the unknown. There’s no turning back from some of these decisions. From simple origins we are building a small platform for a rocket launch of hope and dreams. Imagination is the fuel. The short story “Escape Velocity” continues to be written. MOONTABS is more than me now. I suppose it never was truly mine anyway. I’m simply the generator of words. They have become my work and I pass my time penning them. ✍️

What’s Over The Next Hill?

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The simple words of a title can’t always capture the passion that inspires a story or even come close. Several weeks ago my short and sweet post titled Glamping would break the ice and provide a tiny background into my love of camping. In my desire to seize the moment and hurl myself into the realms of nature all else can fade somewhat. The words must wait as I chase the daylight across the sky. For there is intense energy in the poetry of motion and the magic that waits for us in the great outdoors. It’s as much a part of me as anything. As for the title of this post the words are borrowed. They will forever belong to a man named Wally Byam. I borrow them with respect for they truly resonate within my inner spirit. Who was Wally Byam? He was the creative energy,passion,and founder of the Airstream Company. You’ve no doubt see their signature travel trailers as you journey the highways of North America. Their metal hulls instantly recognizable and truly unique.Why my sudden interest and connection to Airstream? The story is much deeper than even I realized until today. It wasn’t until I visited the Airstream home page and read the story of Wally Byam that I could truly appreciate my connection to his words. Wally’s Creed. Powerful and meaningful to me.It sends a shiver up my spine and adds fuel to a fire that has always burned. As for the video Airstream created it’s remarkable! Check it out! The camera footage of vintage tow vehicles and travel trailers alone makes it worth watching! Why the sudden interest in the Airstream story and Wally Byam? I will need to back up for that one for a few paragraphs. Traveling was not a big part of my childhood or adolescent years. We never owned a travel trailer or even camped.I was the lover of camping! The thousands of acres surrounding us provided ample space for me to explore. Books and magazines connected me to far off destinations. Historically speaking, I have always secretly regretted not being born in the 1800s. Tales of explorers and fur trappers out on those wide expanses of America would trigger my imagination. Western novels of the old west as well. Ranches and cattle drives. Alaska and the frontiers of fortune. Our mom loved to travel but it was hard to get our Dad to vacation so our Aunt Betty Washburn traveled with us! We toured parts of upstate New York and the New England states as far up as Maine. Great memories that time turns hazy as years pass and the decades run together. After our Mom died our father eventually decided that we needed a family vacation around 1978. We left in a giant Ford Mercury. A boat of a car! Two weeks on the road would take us to Arizona and back. The Grand Canyon,the Painted Desert, and the Petrified Forest baked into my memory in the dry,arid lands so very different than home. I loved the experience although towards the end I was rather burned out by the daily long distance itinerary. Miles and miles of travel. Motel rooms and sometimes sketchy restaurants that challenged the digestive tract!But I’ve always treasured that road vacation as it was the only one we ever did together. Our Father’s job,the farm, and my sister’s entrance into college were all factors in lives dictated by time. By work and schedule. Overall the trip broadened my horizons considerably. On the roads we passed the Airstream trailers. “Sardine Cans” our father called them!Fast forward many years. 2012. The Alaska road trip towing a used travel trailer with a new Ford 3.5L Ecoboost power plant. I’d never lost my imagination or desire to travel and with the approach of my birthday it was time. Age 50 was one I’d be taking seriously. Time and travel had been grabbed in small pieces until that 5 week road trip.The trailer was sold in Alaska and never replaced in the frantic years that followed. But retirement in November 2017 changed the game. Zane and I threw ourselves in camping and hiking in the Adirondacks. I met Jennifer.A woman who’s love of travel equals if not surpasses my own. We’ve discussed traveling many times. We’ve experienced some fabulous family vacationing in the Adirondacks and once in California together. The drive to branch out and head off to new places has intensified since the events of 2020 forced restrictions that halted long distance travel.This year we began to seriously consider purchasing a travel trailer or Rv after I sold my home of 6 years. Hours upon hours of research. Endless reviews complete with purchaser horror stories. Indecision began to steal the fun from the moment. Buy new or used? Which brand? Certain ones were impossible to locate and would require waiting almost a year if one was ordered! We found a decent used one that we decided would work this year. We’d order our new one and have it in the spring in time for summer travel. But the deal feel through suddenly and without warning much to my dismay. I began to search once again. I looked at a few new ones here in the St. Law. Co. area but nothing felt right. No offense but there are some rather disposable travel trailers out there. I recently read that the average life of some travel trailers is a mere 15 years! Yikes! Not a good investment considering the cost. I wasn’t thrilled with any of the used travel trailers we located near us. It was a very disappointing moment for me! But the energy of the universe works in mysterious ways. I suddenly began considering an Airstream for the first time. Call it that gut feeling we sometimes get. I previously had felt that an Airstream was beyond our reach as a sensible investment but as I researched every aspect of them I decided that we should try and find one! There were several key factors that factored into that long term investment of features, and quality.Finding one proved somewhat difficult however. But I was not easily deterred once I decided that an Airstream was the perfect fit for my long term vision of MOONTABS. My search led me to Colton Rv in Orchard Park, New York just outside of Buffalo. They had 4 used Airstreams for sale so I made the 4 hour plus trip down on a Tuesday morning just planning to look. I had never stepped into an Airstream despite my researched familiarity with their floor plans and accessories. I ended up buying one! The experience deserves a more detailed post. There’s an energy that lead me there having never read Wally Byam’s words until today. I need to ponder it and try to get the story right! The dream of MOONTABS can be found in the life of Wally Byam and what his company has represented since 1931. Honestly, I still haven’t totally gotten used to the fact that we now own an Airstream and it’s parked in Jennifer’s yard being prepped for a trip! The time spent researching a travel coach purchase is behind us. The open road is there ahead of us! We’re proud of our decision and all it represents for the MOONTABS dream!Watch for an upcoming post showcasing the life of Airstream founder Wally Byam,Colton Rv, and the Airstream family of travel coach’s! It’s inspiring to say the least! As for my connection to Wally Byam? My word’s as a young boy quoted back to me by our father eerily and similarly echoed in a quote of his. They were penned by me in November of 2017. My story is called “The Other Side of the Hill”. I leave you with Wally’s quote: “Keep your eyes on the stars,and the stars in your eyes…see if you can find out what’s over the next hill, and the next one after that.” (Does that give you a shiver or pause to reflect?)I feel I made the right choice without even knowing why. Spirit energy? Or simple coincidence? I chose the energy every time now. It’s going to be a wild ride my friends!✍️

Stalled Out

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April 23rd. Life here at the cottage at Black Lake has been a little chilly lately! It seems that spring has stalled out for the moment!Not in the calendar sense but certainly in a weather sense. The cottage is small and I needed to declutter the place we now call Camp Chaos. The warm weather around the ninth of April lured me into a false and foolhardy place of security. I packed up my winter clothes and jackets. Moved them to the storage conex at the farm. Pulled out totes of shorts,swimwear, and water shoes. The weather turned in a fickle twist of fate. The warm, sunny days turned cool and cloudy. Rain and gray skies. The winds blew and the lake outside Camp Chaos rolled with dark and ominous waves. Cold in all manner of vocabulary and totally uninviting. The pellet stove that heats the camp didn’t stand a chance against the north born arctic winds that plagued us during sugaring season. The pellet stove ran 24/7 and demands a constant daily infusion of fuel. I modified my daily tasks and focused on a hand written list on my kitchen counter of things that I needed to accomplish.It numbered 35 items and I placed a Hi-Lighter next to it intending to attack it with coffee fueled vigor. But progress has been slow and despite my efforts the list still numbers 15. Yes I added a few things along the way but nothing serious. Mornings find me stalled out sometimes.As stalled out as these days of spring. Where does the energy go sometimes? Or the time? Such thoughts are as deep and mysterious as an unknown body of water we venture out upon. They keep me up late and wake me early. It came to me last night well before dawn. The pellet stove’s steady rumble of white noise had lulled me into sleep at some point. I don’t keep a clock nearby to remind me of the time these days. I try to sync with the natural order a non-nocturnal species. Gone are the days of morning commutes. Packing lunches and racing off to a busy day.Afternoon commutes home. Also gone was all the snow and frozen waterways. I suddenly realized that nothing had truly stalled but my attitude. The trees were still growing their leaves. Wild flowers still poked their heads up despite their blanket of recent snow. Nothing was stalled. Nature hadn’t. All the season had done was slow down a little. I then realized that perhaps what I had begun to perceive as a stalling out was not failure but simply a slowing of energy. I sip my morning coffee today with a fresh mindset. The energy I seek still surrounds me in nature. I will head out the door today searching for connections in nature. I won’t pressure myself to find words to describe this journey of spirit. They must arrive as a free flowing energy. What’s been the problem here? This seemingly lack of words and a stalled out mental engine of creativity?The silent and blank pages of a blog site recently?Nothing is truly blank. My stories live in my blog description. Connections with nature. Here lies your ultimate discovery. And mine. We control what we can and must adapt to everything else. Nature teaches us that. So today I won’t worry about the cool temperatures and cloudy skies. I’ll dig out winter clothes and quit whining about the stalled out spring. I will look for the power and magic of nature. Strutting turkeys and feeding whitetail embracing a new day of survival. Busy beaver and nest building birds. They took the stalled out spring as just another series of days. It’s a positive way to start any day I feel. Energy flows like waves. It takes the winds of change to stir them up sometimes. Things have indeed changed immensely these past few months. For the better. I seek to present a real time story of life. Not edited with false illusions of positivity and a perfect life. Instead a portrayal of something very real and honest. Perhaps the readers will find themselves in these passages of a real and ongoing journey of survival. That is the writer’s goal. To share emotion and passion. To make you feel something and take you somewhere. Your journey so very different than mine but maybe containing similarities. I can’t tell you everything but I can tell you something more. I dedicate this page and post to all who struggled yesterday and will struggle today. Health issues.Cancer. Indecision and choices that must be made. Employment and financial issues. I know far too many in these circles I travel who need our prayers of positivity. My blessings are many and I humbly acknowledge my good fortune. May all find peace today. It’s time to rise with the invisible sun.