North Woods River Runner: The Connection: There And Back Again

I grew up in the “Tip of the Mitt”; in the Northern lower peninsula of Michigan. Although I no longer live in that territory, the pull to my roots remains. Obviously my heart is wherever my family resides, and the community in which I live and work, but the fibrous genetics that make me who I am were strengthened and nurtured under clear skies, upon sandy soils, within blue lakes, surrounded by cedar swamps and their translucent rivers, and amongst the pungent air of ferns and pines. And so it is these genes that drive me, like a magnet to iron, into the Michigan Northwoods once a year. It’s a few miles beyond the backdoor of where I lived, and a hop, skip, and jump from my soul; the cadence of which ticks steady like an internal metronome.

When my parents retired in the fall of 2001, they made the difficult, but desired, decision to move away from Michigan and closer to their grandkids. That meant that I needed to make the conscious effort to return and immerse myself in those things I still held dear. The first such endeavor was in 2006 when I took what I later labeled as my “Wild at Heart'' solo trip. It rained quite a bit of the time, but I fished, mountain-biked, swam, and had the opportunity to do a lot of reflecting on both my life, and the position within that life - all while camping in the woods.

Two years later I was able to talk three of my cousins into joining me. All of my cousins, on either side of my family tree, have that adventurous flair, but it was Brad, Brian, and Sean that found room in their schedule, and a connection to the rugged side of the outdoors to join me. Since 2008 we have continued to gather together, immersing ourselves among the woods of the North to camp and fish. Remarkably, we’ve accomplished this now for fifteen straight years. As a family growing up, my cousins had often come up with their parents to visit us and enjoy the expanse of what the Northwoods had to offer, but now after many years and experiences, it too has seeped into their DNA.

Typically our camping schedule ran along the lines of: fish, eat, sleep, repeat. In the beginning we drove that routine into the ground, leaving a gaping crater in the Earth. The tendency was heavy on the fishing and light on the sleeping, with meals thrown in haphazardly together when we had the energy. This was due to the type of fishing we did: decked out in waders, hiking miles to where we stepped into the river, and hiking back against a deep, strong current. We wanted to catch trout, and that desire just about killed us by most accounts.

Fortunately, over the years, we figured out what to do and where to go. We’ve never struck it rich consistently, but then again, that’s why they call it fishing instead of catching. Each of us have seen giant fish that we continue to dream about, either because of the experience we had hooking into them, the environs where it happened, or the missed opportunity; the later bordering more on the side of a haunting nightmare.

Brad With A Brown Trout

Brian With A Rainbow Trout

Sean With A Brown Trout
And a Brook Trout

Todd With A Brown Trout

Me With A Brown Trout

Those various circumstances tend to drive each of us, but we’re not so shallow that we have to catch big fish to be happy. We’ve been just as giddy catching a soft, smooth, and vividly marked brook trout that fits in the palm of our hand - and releasing it back into the cold water, only to have it stay fining against our boots just above the sandy river bed. It’s the kind of experience that makes you smile, take a deep breath of white pine and tamarack, and appreciate the moments. It’s the building block of what makes the surprise of hooking into bigger fish so memorable.

Often, one of our group members will momentarily disappear, only to show up again with an awesome picture of ancient white cedars, brilliantly green cinnamon ferns, or sparkling limpid water churning over a fallen balsam log. In other words, we pay attention to the details that foundationally make up our adventures.

Over the years, Brad, Brian, Sean and I have scaled down the maniacal tendencies, and have added a lot more time towards the preparation of meals, the out of the way places to swim, and the unique roller coaster trails to run. Each activity is as relaxing in its own way as the rest, although we do specifically kick back from time to time by talking and standing barefoot in a cold, freestone river or reading from a good book under the shade of a needled canopy. Don’t get me wrong, we still head out on extravaganzas that would make the common person whimper softly to themselves while curled up in a prenatal position, but we try to limit these to once a day, and they tend to be centered around experiences that we deem essential; like our day long fishing trip from the cedar grove up through the grassy flats, the drive up onto the ridge overlooking the tag alders and inviting stream below, or the hike into an out of the way locale where we catch, cook, and eat a small fish up off the creek and under the soft needled boughs of the tamarack - savoring the taste of each in more ways than one.

Chillaxing On A Hot Day

After Running The Trails

I suppose that’s the way of things; to morph and adapt as our experiences necessitate. We still like to push ourselves, but we also like to take in all that the trip can offer in a holistic manner. For this reason, we’ve had my son Todd join us twice, and have talked about having other family members share in our experiences. Our Grandpa Orlo used to head off into the wilds with a core of friends back in the early years of the twentieth century, and now we as cousins are following suit. Our camping trip is the kind of adventure that necessitates sharing; sharing the experiences and environs between ourselves and occasionally with others, either in person or through the stories that get told over and over.

Grandpa Orlo
(White jacket & Tie-second from the left)
With A Gang Of Friends (1930's)

Perhaps this is why we appreciate our annual trip so much and make the trek Up North to the headwaters of our spirit. It’s become more than a destination, and because of that, I capitalize “Up North” as a proper noun since it has its own specific point on a map in my mind’s eye. And due to our connection to that water, land and air on the map, we return there and back again. Our journey North recharges who we are, to do what we do, so that after a year’s amount of time, we’re ready to do it all again. In fact, we look forward to it.

See you along The Way…

______________________________________

GROUP PICTURES FROM

ALL 15 YEARS