Sandwiched between Christmas and New Year’s, and on the backside of a small town in southern Wisconsin, I gathered two other kindred generations and headed out. First we crossed a frozen lake, and then we climbed the far bank, before making our way up into the woods.
I’ve been there before, but this was my first venture into that locale with my Dad and son Todd. Although I’ve taken each of them out individually to the woods, and on multiple occasions, it was our first outing all together. For that reason they each knew the routine, quickly began packing down the snow, and set about collecting and cutting up some firewood.
Our Three Walking Sticks All Carved By Dad
With the snapping sounds of the crackling flames, and the tantalizing smells of the sizzling food cooking in the skillet, we settled into the rhythm of a day camp in the woods. We wouldn’t be there long, but we would be there long enough; long enough to generate meaningful conversations between father and son, and grandpa and grandson. While my dog Kora settled in on her blanket, we sat and talked as I added various ingredients. The food was typical, meaning that it was what I always cooked. It’s become what’s expected. I can appreciate that, even as the one who cuts and prepares it all beforehand. When you’ve eaten several helpings of it outdoors, and in cold temperatures, you’ll know what I mean.
After indulging in the breakfast, and rinsing it down with some hot cocoa, we cleaned up, packed our gear, and erased any evidence of being there. Being stealthy is important to keep such places sacred. It’s why I’m always mixing it up as to where I go. I suppose it’s like having a random generator that allows me to arbitrarily choose from any one of my special get away places. In such circumstances I liken my decision making to being, “Crazy like a fox,” but I suppose it’s better described as, “Sly like a fox.” Either way I’ll lose you if you try to follow me, and still manage to enjoy a great day in the woods. And should you be so lucky as to be invited to join me, I’ll welcome you into the secret location with open arms; although on more than one occasion I have been known to wander in circles first to confuse people with directions or have them turn off the location on their phones. As I said, it keeps places special.
For that reason, I’ll always hold that morning special. Such an outing, in a sacred place, doesn’t happen often; and when it does you mark it. Generating a time when you can gather generations of your family together for an outdoor experience can be memorable, especially when you each share the same spirit of adventure. Perhaps that’s why I smiled to myself as I walked with my dad and son back across the lake, watching our shadows in the snow covered ice under the glare of the rising sun.
There isn’t a cloud in the sky, unless you count the smoke rising from my smoldering fire. It’s the reciprocal of stars you see screaming down on you in the middle of the night; in the middle of nowhere. On this day, in lieu of a nighttime celestial setting, it’s the color of blue that makes a lasting impression as the sun flexes its muscles. Winter is losing its grip and it knows time is running thin.
I’m surrounded by frozen swampland, thick with 8 foot high red-osier dogwood. The bark of the branches facing the sun is a deep, dark, rich-red color. It’s a beautiful setting interlaced with clumps of dried grasses from last season and lingering patches of snow from a storm several nights ago.
The Native Red-Osier Dogwood
The dogwood is native to North America. My firewood is not. It too has a rich, reddish color deep within its tightly ringed, wood fibers that can easily be seen when it’s cut or split. I used dead and dried branches of the buckthorn tree to cook a lunch in my iron skillet for my dog Kora and me. I figure that I might as well put the nuisance tree to good use.
The Core Of The Buckthorn Tree
Making A Fire From Flint & Steel
Occasionally, back to the north, I can hear the mechanical whine of four wheelers or ice augers. Ice fisherman at a nearby lake are out in full force as their season nears its end. I counted a total of 75-80 cars and trucks, some in the small parking lot with most lined up and down along the country road. It was a circus-like atmosphere when I walked amongst the city of ice shanties and into my secluded setting of red-osier dogwood. Off and on I can also hear a plane overhead or a train in the distance. Crows caw and chickadees call their own name, repeating the last syllable of “dee” several times afterwards.
Following my second cup of hot cocoa, I shed my thick coat and settled in to write in my journal. Kora was curling up on her blanket next to me, when suddenly I could hear something running towards us. No sooner did I attempt to focus in through the thick brush when a turkey ran through our camp less than 15 feet from our fire. Kora stared off after the velociraptor type bird and then looked up at me as if to say, “What was that all about?”
I threw a couple more logs of buckthorn on the fire, grabbed my pencil and journal, and once again sat down on my foam pad. It was then that I locked into the distant baying of hounds that I had begun to hear several minutes beforehand. I had figured that it was dogs from a nearby kennel, aroused by their owner feeding them or something akin to that. But now the deep throated, and excited bays, seemed to grow louder. In fact, they seemed to be very close and in hot pursuit of something just outside of my line of vision. The first dog went by so quickly that I only caught a glimpse of it through the brush. It was following a trail close to the line made by the turkey. The second, a treeing walker hound marked much like a long legged beagle, ran right by us; not even giving my dog Kora the time of day.
I rose, grabbed Kora’s leash, and snapped it onto her collar. I knew that she had no intent of following these crazy dogs, but I didn’t know if the rest of the pack would lay into her once they saw or smelled her. Another dog, this time a redbone hound of short, tawny-colored hair, came straight at us, literally hopped over our fire, and continued baying after whatever the pack was chasing. I could see they each had electronic trackers attached to their collars.
I needn’t have worried about the pack of hounds messing with my dog. They were on a focused mission that was darn near impressive, to say the least, and nothing seemed to deter their pursuit of the unknown quarry. Their baying continued out in a wide circle close to the shoreline of the lake and then back around. On their second lap, they swung about 30 feet out from us, and I was cognizant enough to record some of their ruckus.
CLICK BELOW FOR A VIDEO OF THE BAYING HOUNDS:
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I think there may have been a couple more dogs besides the 3 or 4 that I saw, each with their own pitch. After the second lap I heard the dogs double back, heading towards the origin of their romp, and then after a single gunshot, all was quiet. I don’t know that anything is in season right now other than cotton-tailed rabbits or coyotes. Maybe it was a Sunday afternoon run for the pups, and the gunshot was the sad signal that playtime was over. Regardless, the crazy circus had ended and quiet once again permeated the swamp, although it was some time before the birds resumed their calls to each other.
Kora’s blanket is now saturated and a moat of melted snow now surrounds my once proud cooking fire. I’ll take the time to pack up and hike back to the lake in the next few minutes. It was a good afternoon to get outdoors. Spring isn’t too far away and the tree sap will begin to flow. One trimester remains at school, basketball season is coming to an end, and my running miles are beginning to ramp up. But today, this day, was a much needed day. In the hidden recesses of the red-osier dogwood, and warmed by both the sun and burning buckthorn, Kora and I survived the hounds of the swamp while thoroughly enjoying the circus-like atmosphere.
On that day I realized that an adventure isn’t just for those who take it. Adventure fuels imagination, and visa-versa - if one withers, so does the other.
This Water Goes North
Dennis Weidemann
Manitenahk Books - 2008
Click Below For A Video Of The Necessary Gear:
It had been a spell since the Gulo Adventure Clan had come together; since July in fact. Although overdue, they say that you can’t rush goodness, which is probably true, and as good a reason as anything else I can think of for why it’s taken this long to put an outing together. Of course busy schedules, high water in the rivers, a wedding, and sport seasons held any thought of an adventure at bay. And although they also say that life itself is an adventure, there’s really only so much time that a treed critter will stay in the lofty branches of that tree before it jumps headlong into the pack of hounds who are indeed baying to the hot, fresh scent of their quarry. It was with those dogs nipping at our heels that ten men, tied in some way, shape, or form to the Prairie Hill School District headed North into Wisconsin to seek adventure.
The destination for our adventure across the Stateline really was insignificant. By insignificant, I don’t mean that the location didn’t matter, or that that it wasn’t important, it’s just that it really didn’t matter where we were escaping to, as long as it was outside, we could build a fire, and where we could all be together. Besides, the destination we did go to truly is significant, as a priceless little lake well worth a visit. But we won’t tell you where it is. We’d have to kill you if we told you, to keep the secrets of our various outings sacred; some of which have become traditional, hallowed locations.
It was with these things in mind that the ten of us loaded into three vehicles and shoved off into the currents of dreams, fresh air, and the unknown. As we drove and rode, we dined on Mandarin oranges and granola bars. Once we arrived and had divvied up our gear, trekking across the lake was only a bit dicey. The ice was plenty thick, but in select sections, a pseudo cover existed that often gave way to several inches of freezing cold water that hovered on top of the original layer of ice. For those with boots it was not a big deal. For those with warm season hiking or trail shoes it was.
Click Below For A Video Of Us Lake Trekking:
Along the way, and while crossing the ice, we stopped and talked to two brothers named Randy and Craig who happened to be out ice fishing. We waited patiently while they took a picture of Randy’s son Ryan who had just caught a nice pike on a tip-up. They released it, reset the line with a minnow, and then came over to talk to us, and allow me to introduce them to my fellow Gulo members. You might think that such a visit wouldn’t be important to the story I’m trying to tell, but on the contrary, it was at its heart. Randy and Craig’s Dad had been a foundational member of the Prairie Hill School District for many years, and had retired just before I had started teaching. I know the importance of sweat equity for those who came before us at our school. I wasn’t going to miss out on the teachable moment, to have those linked to the past meet those teaching in the future. It is this very thing that promotes understanding, supports a legacy that already existed, and establishes the knowledge and roots of history necessary to uphold the trunk and branches of what is often called progress.
Once we left the ice and plunged into the brush, the real work began. It was tough going! The snow was surprisingly almost up to our knees. The traipsing was made even more difficult with the tangled grasses, spring water bubbling up through soft ground, and the tight woven branches of the red osier dogwood slapping against us. After a bit we dumped our gear at a base-camp beyond some young poplar trees, and continued hiking on into another lake. We rested at our destination, caught our breath, and took a quick group picture. Just as we stepped back up onto the bank, one of our members sank down into soft mud below the deep snow. He was stuck and held fast. While we held him up by his arms, another member began scraping away the snow from around his leg. Finally, it loosened its grip, but not until icy water had filled his boot. This was the second or third guy who now had wet feet. I was beginning to worry that this adventure was pushing the limits of our gear and abilities. As we turned around and headed back to our supplies and the promise of a warm fire, the looming picture of a home cooked meal encouraged us on and the group forward.
Click Below For A Video Of Us Traipsing Brush:
Once congregated, I had the fire going in two hits of my flint and steel. We quickly went to work while the others drank orange juice as they sat, talked, or caught their breath. Within a short amount of time we cooked the meal in our two iron skillets. To a man we devoured the food. All of it. Which was as much of a feat as the adventure itself. Even my dog Kora was able to enjoy a healthy scoop; a reward for the hard work she had endured of leaping and bounding with each step through the snow; in and around our legs. Afterwards we stood around the fire and topped off our outing with a cup of hot cocoa in our monogrammed tin cups. With a word of thanks, and a request for courage and strength to do what each of us does at work, and in the realm of education, we then repacked the gear and headed out.
Click Below For A Video Of Making A Fire:
The going was easier on the packed trail as we returned. Our spirits were also much lighter with food in our bellies and the destination of the parking lot within our sites. We crossed the frozen lake again as the temperatures began to peak for the day, but not before another member plunged his foot through the top sheet of thin snow and ice and into the middle layer of ice water. He was young though, and tough, so onward he walked. With warmer temperatures in the near future, it may have been one of the last days to be out on the lake. Today, however, the lake had provided us with a means to the end; it had provided us with a way to walk into a frozen adventure.
See you along The Way…
Pictured From Left To Right Are: Myself, Andy, Scott, Joe, Chuck, Zach, Andrew, Justin K., Justin B. And Kora With Tyler. Andy, Chuck , And Justin K. are new "Card Carrying Members!"
In [the] modest life lies the beauty of adventure - you don’t have to
discover new territory or be famous to find it. It is the last
