The Secret Channel

 

It’s a secret sort of channel that momentarily breaks away from the main river. The water there runs crystal clear over sand & gravel, and briefly along a light colored, slippery bank of clay.  Eventually it shoots through a hundred and fifty foot raceway on its way back to the primary current.  It returns stage right in the midst of a shallow tailwater that’s layered with softball sized rocks.

The Clay Lined Bank

The rhythmic cadence of water spilling over a rotting log, and around a mounded gravel bar, helps drown out the chatter of bothersome uncertainties beyond this mini ecosystem.  The shade of canopy over the channel comes from the balsam along one side and the tag alder on the other; although the first and only bend has a clump of paper birch with 6 strong trunks and their fluttering leaves - opposite of an awesome white cedar and it’s flat, scalelike needles.  The cedar can act as either a seat or anchor for a well placed hammock.  It’s done both.

The Raceway - Around The Gravel Bar

Twenty years ago one of the cedars’ dead branches came home with me.  It’s what I annually cut into 2 to 3 inch chunks and split into 6 to 8 sections.  Those split plugs of cedar, from that shade tree on the channel, are what are offered up each time I head out onto water; of any kind, any where, for any reason - but most typically when I fish.  It’s offered and released with a prayer of thanks for the chance and opportunity to be a part of that particular setting while enjoying all that it has to provide.  It’s my version of a sage, sweetgrass, or tobacco bundle; a gift of gratitude.

Seclusive enough, the secret channel stays cool even on the hottest of days, galvanized by spring fed water and overhead shade.  The river itself isn’t visited very often, and when it is on hot days, the mouth of the secret channel stays stealthy and well hidden beyond a shallow, rippling, open area - on the other side of a rock dam and sexy little swimming hole.  The area where people sometimes swim isn’t as deep as it used to be but it still gets most of the river’s attention.  It’s a necessary distraction that inadvertently protects the channel.

That protection provides the perfect place to hide out after several days of memorable camping, fishing, and running.  More than that, the secret channel is a place to relax after burning so much energy; letting the water run over your feet, between your toes, and along your legs as you sit in a favorite chair plopped down and smack dab in the babbling water itself.  It’s a place to sit and let memories of the last few days, and last few years, simmer and permeate the very core of your inner being. The core; where chromosomed cells and the synapsed ends of nerves can be imprinted and branded in such a way that when you fish for hours against the current - alongside undercut bends, run the ridges overlooking the snaking blue ribbon of water, or submerge yourself in the liquid cold within its gravely troughs, the experience becomes a holistic journey that runs deep. In fact, those particular holistic journeys have the opportunity to run deep for as long as you circle the sun and allow your shadow to fall upon that chunk of Earth.

2024 Trip With The Cousins
Brian, Me, Sean, & Brad

Here in the secret channel you may doze, read, or write.  Heck, you may even stack a few flat rocks, or mold a cup from the white clay of the bank, until the current or sun returns such things back to their place of origin.

These are all foundational actions; actions that revitalize the soul of a person after a year of life and a week in the woods.  So that with a deep breath and content smile, under the canopied coolness of the secret channel, a person’s ready to do life for another year.

See you along The Way…

----------------------------------------

CLICK BELOW FOR A VIDEO OF

THE TRICKLING, CLEAR WATER OF

THE SECRET CHANNEL:

A Refreshing Beginning

Caught, Photographed, Revived & Released

I’m not sure what happened, but somehow over the course of the last several weeks, the amount of time that I sleep throughout any given night has slipped away like sand through an hour glass.  As the summer goes along, a person tends to stay up a bit longer anyways, but with my family’s schedule involving work and practices, we continue to get up early.  That, coupled with some health issues and surgery that my wife has bravely battled through, and you have the ingredients for some short nights and long days.  None of the issues involving time mattered now though, as I was once again back North with my cousins; in the heart of Northern Lower Michigan.  We travel to camp in one of Michigan’s beautiful state forests once a year, next to where I grew up as a young lad.

I slept last night for just shy of four hours, or maybe it was five.  While camping we don’t keep track of time much, but I also get mixed up between reading my watch that I have laying next to me, seeing it’s time, and also moving it ahead one hour for the eastern time zone.  The point is that I got some sleep and it took the edge off.  When nature began to call, as I lay within my new tent, I knew it was time to get up.  After slipping in and out of the tent under the declining light of the waning gibbous moon, and the gentle glow of a rising sun an hour or so off from breaking the horizon, I turned on my lantern, tucked back down into my sleeping bag, and began to write.

I had begun thinking about last night, and I had to get it out of my mind and onto paper.  I would have documented it in my daily journal, but after two full years, and the aforementioned schedule lately, I’m like two or three weeks behind.  It presents itself as a bit of a problem.  My wife says I simply need to draw a line and start afresh.  I’m kind of under the notion though that I’d like to at least briefly document each day’s events for the last few weeks; in brief snippets of facts for all that’s happened recently.  Regardless, I pulled out my writing journal instead.

After only sleeping two and a half hours on Thursday night, I got up and put the last few things into my Jeep, said goodbye to my wife, and left our driveway and Northern Illinois at 3:00 a.m.  I wanted to beat the heat, as my Jeep doesn’t have air conditioning and it was supposed to be “up there” with the temperature and humidity.  I made great time traveling through Illinois, Indiana, and into Michigan; rolling into my hometown after about seven and a half hours of driving.  I stopped at the familiar State Park for a vehicle sticker, now known as a recreation pass, which I needed for camping out in the state forest.  Together with my cousin Brad, we then met my high school friend Tim for lunch.  Afterwards, Brad and I picked up my fishing license, bought enough food for one meal, and headed out to the woods.  We would complete our grocery shopping for the trip in the morning when we came back out to meet my cousin Brian; as he was coming up a day later.

Brad and I found a familiar site along the river that we’ve had twice before over the years.  After determining who could set up camp where, we began to start the process of unloading our gear.  Cousin Sean joined us at that point, as he had had to put in a couple of hours of work before driving up to meet us.  Brad and Sean hung their newly made hammocks to sleep in, and I pitched my tent.  After jumping in the river to rinse off and refresh, following a hot afternoon, we cooked up a dinner of beans, brats and sauerkraut.  It hit the spot, although as Brad and Sean said, “The only thing missing is the feeling you have that’s close to exhaustion; when you’ve worked hard all day and then eat that kind of food.”  It wasn’t as though we hadn’t worked to drive and then set up camp, it’s just not as much work as when we hike and fish all day (See our past blog entry entitled: “Bogged Down”).

Following our meal and cleaning up, we got out our waders, boots, and gear.  All of us had invested in new boots and waders for this trip, as time and use had ravaged our old ones.  And so there was the usual routine of rushing around to get our suspenders adjusted, and the feel just right.  Not much daylight was left, but we hiked down the valley a way so we could fish back.  The efforts were relaxed and we talked as we walked.  Upon entering the waters we thanked God for the tradition we’ve been able to continue now for nine full years, released a plug of sacred cedar, and then started fishing.  Of course Sean hooked a fish on his first cast.  That’s a bit of a tradition too.  Not that he catches fish on the first cast every outing, but that he catches fish fairly consistently with some obscure spinner that he’s simply picked out and uses as his “spinner of the week”.  Luckily it was just a small little trout; a brook trout; and it fell off the hook before he could bring it to his hand.  Brad and I smiled, shook our heads while mumbling something about how he does that, and then started casting as well.

We continued on in the dwindling light for several bends without anything to speak of, other than little hits from trout that wouldn’t fully hook on; that is until Sean remarked that he thought the copper colored spinner I was using should start working for the brown trout who would be coming out to feed in the growing darkness.  No sooner had the air for those words left his lungs, when my lure suddenly hit a snag; a snag that was moving!  It was a load.  It was a slab.  It was big.  It was beautiful.  It was the first monster brown trout of our trip.

As the male ruffed grouse drummed its wings off in the distance, and a whip-poor-will started its distinctive call that mimicked the sound of its name, we all knew at that moment why it is that we do this trip.  This was going to be refreshing.

         See you along The Way…

Bogged Down

     It was our 8th year heading to this "Up North", Michigan destination.  Of course what requires many hours of driving to get to now, used to only be a step out the back door growing up.  My sisters and I were raised there, playing in the rivers and lakes of Northern Lower Michigan. Driving the two track roads of the nearby state forest with my parents often led to out of the way places where adventures started.  I love my sisters, but the cousins from my Dad's side of the family are the closest thing I have to brothers.  Friends from high school, friends from college, or guys I teach, run, or hang out with are all connections I have related to in one way or another over the years; great guys and great relationships that could easily start up again from where we left off - no matter how much time has gone by.  I have grown up with my cousins, however, and since we were young kids we have always gone "all out" when we've gotten together.  Along with my sisters, we would race along the lake shore where they and my Grandma lived.  We'd ice skate, sled, ski, swim, run, bike, throw apples in the orchard, shoot old bottles with BB guns or wrist-rocket sling shots, play with the animals in the barn, fish, sail and a host of other adventures when we gathered together.  A good visit was an exhausting visit, whether we came south to the lake or they came north to the farm and woods; either way it was the best of both worlds.
     The "Twins", Brad and Brian, were the cousins we hung out with when we were younger, but in my mid teens Chad and Sean were born and joined the ranks. 

The Seven Cousins - 1982

My Dad's side of the family was small; just he and his sister Cherie and their Mom; my Grandma.  Now, two generations since, we've exploded in numbers.  The cousins number seven between my sisters Becky and Karen, myself, and then the four boys.  By the time you add the spouses, the sixteen kids, and then the dogs - it's become quite a crew when we get together every few years.  Traditionally my own immediate family has been able to carry on with our visits to the lake each winter and summer, only occasionally missing out when life's schedules get in the way.  In addition to that is this trip "Up North".  It involves Brad, Brian, Sean and I at this point; four guys for five days.  It's a lot of fun.  It's a lot of work.
     Yes!  It's finally here.  I do what I do all year...slowly wearing down until I get back here...  Here is where I rejuvenate and recharge.  Like scales from a blind man's eyes, the to-do lists and pressures fall away and leave vision. (From my 2014 journal)
     To describe what we do wouldn't make much sense to most people.  When the five days are complete, we're pretty much exhausted, but ironically refreshed at the same time.  It starts with the planning, and then the packing, before our energies turn towards the drive Up North. 

Once we arrive back in my boyhood town, we do a majority of the grocery shopping at our favorite little "Save a Lot" grocery store owned by a high school friend and his brothers.  Usually our trip also involves a quick stop at "Jay's Sporting Goods" for fishing spinners and any other last minute, outdoor necessity; as well as "Glen's Market" for real maple syrup and Bush's Baked Beans. 

These are the details that you may or may not be interested in.
     I'd love to describe what we do and how we do it from there on out; like how we drive the gravel and two-track roads to where we set up camp.  Once that's complete it's all about the cooking, cleaning, wading while fishing, hiking, running the trails, and swimming to cool off and bathe.  I want to write on those things but quite simply I get bogged down in trying to even start.  It's been a week since we returned and yet this is all I've managed to crank out and write into my journal.
     The way this entry started, and how it's ending, may remind you of some junior high kid.  The kind of kid who has to write a 500 word essay; realizes that he's suddenly at 475 and then scraps his creative ideas and wraps it all up in two run-on sentences.  It was not my intention to mimic such an endeavor.  Partially because I've struggled, at least at this point, to put everything we do into words; partially because I think it would be better to break the whole into parts that could be written about throughout the year until we meet again; partially because some of it must remain secret.  Not secrets that remain unmentionable and hidden in silence to anyone outside of our family, although that's some of it.  It's more of a secret to protect revealing too much about what's behind our giddiness from exhaustion.  How do you explain what we do? Who would understand?  You can try in generalities without revelation I suppose.
     Take Sunday, July 19th for example.  It was Sean's birthday.  We started early.  After 5 1/2 to 6 hours of sleep (our average) we were up and getting at it.  I mention this not to be heroic, it's just what we do...and what the sun, red squirrels, chipmunks and birds allow.  Brad made coffee for himself and his brothers on a cool little "Emberlit Camp Stove" that you feed little sticks into as fuel for a flame.  With waders and vests on, and a pole in hand, we headed out on a trail that rides the river downstream so we could fish back.  It's about a 3 mile hike in to a place that seems almost sacred. 

The Twins & I - Pushing Water

In addition to our regular gear, Sean was hauling eggs, sausage, cheese and potatoes (all prepared and ready to go) in a backpack.  I also had a backpack on that was filled with plates, frying pans, utensils and my flint and steel to make a fire.  Each of us carried our own fresh water from our base camp's artesian spring. 

Once we found an ideal site under a canopy of large white cedars, the rest of the crew hiked down and fished up to me.  In the meantime, I had collected wood, started a fire, and began cooking breakfast.  I've dreamed about doing this for the last couple of years and it finally came into fruition.  I was able to cook like I do all winter and combine it with trout fishing with the brothers of cousins.  Cooking out and fishing are some of my favorite things to do.

      Once fed, we fished.  But to say we fished sounds easy and slightly boring.  We don't keep track of time much when we're in the bush, but as near as we can figure we were "out there" for at least 9 hours.  I run marathons.  I love running and doing strenuous activity over long periods of time.  I enjoy the feeling you get from that and then having nothing left afterwards.  When we returned that afternoon, however, I had moved beyond that frame of reference. 

Talk about being bogged down!  While fishing the river that day and even reflecting back a day later, I was elated.  There were some moments though, I must admit, that were touch and go that last hour or so as we were hiking back.  Not just for me; for all of us.  It was a warm day, our energy was depleted, and camp was still a ways away when we broke down our poles and started trudging back.  I say trudging because we still had on our waders and boots.  This is one of the reasons why our waders only last a few years. 

Sean, Brad & I - Resting in the River

When the top section of Brian's pole came up missing, I think it was Sean who voiced, "If it was me, I'd want someone to help."  We back-tracked as best we could; and retraced our trail through the goldenrod, bee balm, and bracken fern.  It was, unfortunately, to no avail; and so it was in this condition that we collapsed back into camp.  The good thing was that it was only in the afternoon; and in the far North, on the far western edge of the Eastern Time Zone, that means it would be light for quite some time yet.  I sat for a while before I could muster the energy necessary to reach down and take my boots off.  Brad and Brian jumped in a vehicle to run to a nearby store for fresh ice we needed for our coolers and to get a new pole.  I fell asleep face down for about a half hour, woke slightly discombobulated, but regained my wits enough to start a fire and begin preparing food with Sean before the boys rejoined us.  We jumped into the refreshingly cold river behind our camp to rinse off and revive the body.  For supper that evening we made tinfoil dinners.  I've made these a lot over the years with family and friends, but I think that evening was perhaps one of the best.  Inside the double wrapped foil we had added potatoes, sausage, onions, sauerkraut, mushrooms and zucchini.  Writing about it makes my mouth drool.  Our emotions warranted flashbacks of Bill Murray eating at his psychiatrist's house in the movie, What About Bob?  To top it off, we had a little strawberry cheesecake the Twins had picked up for Sean's birthday while they were in town.  It was heavenly.  It was what we needed.  Isn't it amazing how good food can taste when you've been outside all day and you're tired?  That meal was great regardless!

     As darkness fell, we lit our Coleman Lantern that hung from the branch of a nearby white pine.  We still had to clean up and repack things in our vehicles before going to bed.  The following day was going to be another big day, in another favorite spot; high on a ridge overlooking another snaking river.  Were we exhausted?  Yes indeed; but we've been doing this type of thing, as a pack of cousins, since we were old enough to run around.  Reflecting back on this year's trip and the past 8 years, it's rather mind boggling to think of the time honored tradition of running ourselves ragged until we're simply bogged down with permanent grins etched on our faces.
     See you along The Way...