North Woods River Runner: Simply Put

Simply put, it was a hike in the woods. I had the day off from school and the morning free to get outside. I didn’t need anything else other than that to motivate me. The ground held a thin layer of snow, the air temperature was in the mid 20’s, and the skies were overcast and gray; although by the afternoon they could have been classified as partly cloudy.

My destination was familiar; as familiar as any place you have consistently visited over many years. It was the kind of place that becomes chronicled in your memory bank once its existence is known. I have many locations like that; whereabouts lodged in my mind that occasionally come to the forefront at seemingly random times. Often it’s when I least expect it, but need it most.

I can remember teaching a lesson at school decades ago. I was talking to my students, and writing something on the whiteboard, while at the same moment in my mind, I was wading and looking at a specific bend in a blue ribbon trout stream up in Northern Michigan. I was engaged with my class, I knew what I was saying, and yet simultaneously I was trying to read the currents of the water to figure out where I should pitch my lure. Some might categorize this as daydreaming, or if they gave me credit, perhaps they’d say I was multitasking. But it was deeper than that, or at least different. While fully engaged in one situation, I was mentally engaged in another. Simply put, it was transcendental.

Since that moment in my classroom, I’ve mentally camped, hiked, fished, snowshoed, and cooked-out thousands of times; often while taking part in a different activity. It’s allowed me to partake in an out-of-body visit to my most memorable destinations that are scattered throughout the Northland. Simply put, it’s these mental trips that help bridge the gap between now and the times when I can actually get there in person.

With that being said, the familiar destination I was hiking to that particular winter morning was not as important as who I was going out with. My Dad was joining me. In true dad fashion, he often walks the streets of his neighborhood, the aisles of the supermarket with my Mom, or the trails of a local preserve so he can be in the shape needed to partake in such an excursion. At 81 ½ now, he’s still got it. Simply put, our hike gave him an excuse (as if he needed one) to put some gear together in his pack; equipment to carry on his back to add to our outing.

He arrived at our house before 9:00 that morning, and as he parked his car, he texted Mom that he was here safe and sound. I said goodbye to my wife Cindy, and then we loaded our packs and my dog Kora into the old Silver Jeep. We drove, and talked, and after reaching the dead end road where we would park the vehicle, set off with packs on our back and walking sticks in our hand. An open vista, overlooking a wide valley, is where we started before descending into a valley and the forested bottomlands of a frozen river.

The total round trip distance was something like three and a quarter miles. We set up a day camp, gathered firewood, and on a high bank overlooking the river, made a fire. I had prepared all of the typical breakfast food ahead of time, and hauled in my iron skillet to cook it. Classic! Although it wasn’t any more classic than sitting around the fire afterwards, drinking hot chocolate, and talking about life.

I’m continually amazed, and often wonder, how he was able to be the Dad he was when his own Dad had died when he was so young. In addition to his Mom (my Grandma), who was it that helped to guide and mold him into the person that he is? What experiences did he have, and what men stepped up to model how life was to be lived?

Questions like that were the centerpoint of our discussion. Some of the stories were familiar. Some of the stories were new. I need to sit, hear them again, and write them down so that I don’t forget them. They’re important. Not just in how he grew up, but for me personally; the first generation on the flip-side of a difficult circumstance. It will be worthy of a journal entry or blog post in the future. It’s where the boot meets the trail so to speak, when his story becomes my history.

After burning through the collected hickory logs, we put out our fire, donned our packs, and together with Kora, hiked on out. It was about that time that the skies became partly cloudy, and the sun glistened off the prairie that’s on the backside of the woods that hugs the river. It was an awesome setting for a memorable experience. Simply put, it’s another outing chronicled in my memory bank where I can easily access it, and revisit it as often as I like, while doing something else. At least until we can actually get out into the woods again.

See you along The Way…