Unexpected Friends

 

It wasn’t your typical Spring Break trip; in that it wasn’t somewhere far away, with other family members, or located within walking distance of a beach.  Heck, it really wasn’t typical in any fashion or form, which is why it was perfect for me and helped to fill the void of wanting to do something adventurous over the couple of days that I had off from teaching.  Although I have enjoyed a warm weather getaway a time or two in the past, it would not be this year with future travels already planned for graduations in different parts of the country later that spring.  And so it was, that despite freezing cold temperatures predicted throughout the night, I decided to take to a wild river, in a relatively close vicinity, for an overnight camp out.

I gathered and prepared my gear without too much of an issue.  And although getting the hefty canoe up on top of my Jeep was difficult without any help, I didn’t strain any tendons or pull any muscles, so I counted that as a success.  At one point, however, while strapping down the Starcraft to my rooftop, I forgot that the darn thing hung down low on each end of the vehicle.  After attaching the hook for one of the cam buckle straps, I walked around the back end of the Jeep so I could tighten down the canoe and secure it from the other side.  Unfortunately I was looking down at another hook that I needed to attach to the trailer hitch and didn’t see the stern that was level with my noggin and ran headlong into it!  It rang my bell and hurt like the dickens of course, but I remained eerily calm about it until I went inside to explain to my wife Cindy what I had done.  Then I lost it for a few unsavory moments within the confines of my house.  Once the initial pain had somewhat subsided, and I had regained my wits about me, I finished my preparations; all the while silently scoffing at myself for the self inflicted blunder.

Cindy and I then took off towards the drop off point under sunny skies in the late afternoon.  I would have just enough time to paddle down the river and set up my camp before the sun set.  Upon our arrival at the launch, and with a quick goodbye, I shoved off with my gear piled high.

CLICK BELOW FOR A VIDEO OF

PADDLING ON THE RIVER:

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Several hours later I pulled alongside the inside bank of a sharp bend.  There was little to no gradual incline of sand to run up upon due to the high water of the snow melt, so I found a cut in the shore where I could wedge the bow.  It was there that I unloaded the supplies and found a suitable site nestled back in under the bare branched trees of the surrounding forest.  I tried to work smart and efficiently because I could see my time was limited before darkness fell.

The Setting Sun Behind My Camp.

With the tent set-up I threw in my sleeping bags and wool blanket; other various items I stored under the fly of my tent.  Using some of my remaining energy, I dragged my canoe back into the woods using a semi-worn deer trail that ran just beyond the footprint of my camp.  Already my hands were getting cold and I periodically stopped to warm them after adding additional layers of clothing.

The Rising Moon.

Dinner was a brat and baked beans washed down with some hot chocolate.  The food was as welcoming as the warmth of the small fire while the last rays of the setting sun were replaced by its reflection off the rising moon.  The stars, in vivid clarity, were absolutely spectacular.  The distinction of “Orion the Hunter” was unlike anything I had ever seen.  Without a hint of light pollution, other than the surrounding celestial bodies, I could identify each of the key components of this well known constellation.  Typically people can locate Orion’s Belt, but to be able to clearly see each star that creates his outline and instruments for hunting, was downright memorable.  With that image burned into my mind, I cleaned off my dishes in the river, snuffed out the dying embers of the fire, and got ready for bed.

Planets To The West.

The Moon And The Stars.
Can You Locate All Of Orion The Hunter?

Since cold air sinks to the lowest elevation, and I was camped along the river’s edge, the temperatures dropped down into the high teens that evening.  With nothing more than a well ventilated nylon tent for my shelter, I doubled my two sleeping bags (one inside the other), wrapped them in a wool blanket, and laid it on top of a sleeping pad.  I myself wore wool socks and my running tights under a pair of flannel pants.  My upper body was insulated with a T-shirt, long sleeve shirt, and a hoodie sweatshirt.  The ensemble was completed wearing a stocking hat with my hoodie pulled up and over that to prevent any cold drafts down my back.  Despite having to bundle up, I slept soundly once my feet were warm, and only slightly stirred to the several times that I was serenaded by barred owls and coyotes off in the distance.

The following morning was cold!  It was hard to do anything for any length of time before I had to put something back on my hands and try to warm them up.  That limited my dexterity!  I cooked breakfast over a little burner stove that my Dad had given me a year or so ago.  The skillet I made consisted of my final brat, two small potatoes, and a couple of eggs.  It was just enough.  My tent was covered in a thin layer of frost; the result of frozen condensation, but I went ahead and packed it away knowing that I’d have to dry out my gear later that afternoon.  I ruffled the leaves and scattered some sticks to erase any signs of my camp.

Erasing The Footprint From My Tent.

Snow Was Still Evident Around
The Base Of Trees.

It was about that time that I saw a pair of pileated woodpeckers.  This species of bird is huge as woodpeckers go, and about the size of a crow, although they look more like a pterodactyl.  One of them flew further up the river.  Throughout the rest of the morning I often heard this one, although it was no longer visible.  The other remained close by my camp.  I quickly took a few distorted pictures from a distance with my phone.  Then I grabbed my camera that has a decent lens on it so I could try to get a more distinct profile snapshot.  The bird was so quick in its movements that I literally couldn’t react fast enough; even after trying to warm my frozen fingers.  I watched and marveled at the show it was putting on for me in full display.  Despite not hammering away at strong, fibrous wood that produces the loud jackhammer-like sounds, it was very interesting to observe how it was getting insects from within the rotting trunk of an old cottonwood tree that lay sprawled on the forest floor.  It worked methodically, as a seasoned woodsman was wont to do with an ax; in the lumbering days within the once great, pine forests of the North.  Chiseling first at one angle, it would then reposition and chip away from an equal but opposite angle that slanted away from the imaginary and perpendicular line that descended down from where its mighty branches once extended into the canopy and sky.  The result was huge chunks of soft wood that were quietly and easily removed to get to where tender morsels of arthropomorphic food were lying in wait.

CLICK BELOW FOR A VIDEO OF

THE PILEATED WOODPECKER AT WORK:

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After some time, I slowly backed away and began carrying my supplies down to the river’s edge.  As I readied my canoe, and prepared to load the gear, I saw the pileated woodpecker continuing in its quest for food; working on the same log.  I glanced at the clock on my phone and figured that I still had a few extra minutes to spare.  I again grabbed my camera, took a breath, and slowly advanced towards the bird.  I already had taken a gazillion pictures prior; one or two that looked sort of okay.  This time I was relaxed and figured anything gained now was extra.  I progressed with purpose by taking a picture and then taking a step closer.  Following each step, my finger clicked the button of the camera as I tried to guess the instant it would raise its head.  Every once in a while I was able to do just that!  The experience turned into one of those once in a lifetime moments.  The woodpecker remained undisturbed by my presence, and I was able to walk and stand within 12-15 feet of it while it worked to eat.  Perhaps I could have gotten even closer, but I didn’t want to push the limits and betray its trust by getting any nearer than what I did!  It's a moment I’ll never forget, and one now preserved in a picture.  It’s a picture I was fortunate to capture at the right moment and at such a close range. Within it I can easily see into the pupil of the woodpecker's eye and detect the texture on the tip of its feathers.  In the end I merely put the camera down and watched.  The bird was vibrant and spectacular.  For all I know it’s still there chipping away with precision while extracting delicious ants, termites, and grubs.  After a respectful amount of time I stepped quietly away and left without distraction.

THE TWO (BELOW) ARE MY FAVORITES!

Following a couple of hours worth of paddling, I met Cindy at my take out point.  I was tired, but I was fulfilled.  While I had started out on a solo journey, it quickly turned into a shared adventure with unexpected friends.  Not only was I able to enjoy the overwhelming hospitality of the river, forest, and cold, but I was also afforded the opportunity to revel in the company of both Orion the Hunter and a pileated woodpecker.  It’s an experience that I aim to keep lodged deep in my noggin (beyond the bruise from the canoe), because as outings tend to go, it really wasn’t typical in any fashion or form; which is why it was perfect for me.

See you along The Way…

A Plug Of Cedar Left Behind As A
Thank You For My Time Spent
With "Unexpected Friends."

Ten Year Deja Vu

Louie, Scott, Ric, & Me
2013

My friend Louie and I had been having end of the school year adventures since the spring of 2009.  So when we opened it up to other teaching colleagues in 2013, it was the birth of what would become a gathering of guys; later known as the Gulo Adventure Clan.

While attending the Canoecopia Expo in Madison Wisconsin the spring of 2009, I saw an exhibit advertising a “Paddle to Work Day.”  That birthed a plan in my mind that perhaps I could create a rendition of that idea.  The creeks and rivers near the school where I teach run south towards Rockford, Illinois where my family and I lived at the time.  I began to scheme how I could perhaps paddle down to our house from work.

Louie became my go-to guy for paddling home in kayaks once spring arrived; or should I say, we attempted to paddle home.  We had to finish that particular journey in 2010 and make it a two part experience.  Someday I’ll write a blog post about that crazy trip!  Afterwards, Louie and I added to our end of the school year adventures with a bike ride to New Glarus in 2011, and a rather lengthy hike in 2012 when we walked from school down to my house about 15 miles to the south.  To this end, our 2013 school year outing was expanded to involve other gullible staff members willing to jump in with us for a taste of adventure.  Our objective was to enter into Dry Run Creek beyond the field next to Prairie Hill School, cross the Wisconsin Stateline, and slog against the current up to Highway#67; where the creek flows under the roadway just east of the small Beloit Airport.  “Why,” you might ask?  Why not?!

We gathered in the school’s parking lot and then hiked down to the intersection of Willowbrook and Prairie Hill Road.  Four of us had agreed to be a part of the expedition; Louie, Scott, Ric, and myself.  Wearing old shoes, we stepped down into the slow moving water.  It was freezing cold from the get-go, and as we stood in calf deep water looking at each other, we knew at once that this was going to be tough!  We hadn’t even gotten close to some of the upcoming deep bends or log jams before one of us flat-out stated, ‘I’m not hiking in this!”  As I said, the water was cold, and although it was partly sunny, the air was just about as cool.  We wore long sleeve shirts but I suppose hypothermia, when walking in cold water over an extended period of time, was a real thing!

So it was spontaneously agreed upon that instead of hiking in the creek, we would instead walk beside it; up along its banks.  On the plus side, and to help sooth our change in plans, we were scheduled to stop halfway to our destination at Raymond and Diane’s home.  They lived on the banks of Dry Run Creek in a relaxed country setting.  Diane, who was a paraprofessional aide in my classroom that year, had agreed to have a meal of sloppy joes ready for us upon hearing what we had planned.  Unfortunately, due to the fact that we were now hiking the banks instead of against moving water, we arrived more than an hour ahead of time.  Fortunately we came in only mildly muddy and damp, as opposed to soaking wet and cold.  In addition, our hosts were more than accommodating to the surprise time change and simply relished the opportunity to talk, visit, and feed us.  As our rag-tag crew settled in, we balanced the hospitality with laughter and conversations; some about the history of the area.  Louie and I promised Scott and Ric that our trips of the past had not gone quite so easily; that pain, blood, and at least a minimal amount of suffering were typically some of the necessary ingredients within our excursions.  They nodded as if they understood while mumbling something through mouths stuffed with food.  When our bellies were full and we were ready to start again, we took a few pictures with Ray and Diane that are now misplaced or lost due to time, waved goodbye, and then continued north by northeast across the road and into an open cow pasture through which the creek meandered.  We were soon to cross the invisible Illinois-Wisconsin state line.

It was a couple of hours later that we emerged next to the small Wisconsin state highway.  We took a picture together sitting on a bridge that spanned the creek; used during the winter months as a way to link the intricate snowmobile trail system.  The picture is a classic as pictures go, because it was the first snapshot ever taken of a collection of guys outside of just Louie and I on one of our outings.  Our group of four talked and walked the one mile incline to the airport where my wife picked us up.  Our day trip ended up being slightly different from what we had originally expected, but as successful adventures tend to go, we were adaptable to the circumstances and came away with some good memories.

It was with those pictures from 10 years ago etched in our minds that we gathered once again last month.  It was like deja vu!  A simple get-together, but one that allowed us to reconnect.  As with most people, our lives look different than they did a decade ago.  Over that time much has happened and we’ve had a plethora of additional gatherings, in all kinds of environments and weather conditions, with other colleagues and friends.

At this most recent gathering, we had a short hike out near the Sugar River before enjoying the conversations around an old limestone hearth that encompassed a crackling fire.  Within that setting we enjoyed eating good food cooked in the largest of skillets.  Who knew, when we first came together on the banks of a cold, local creek, that ten years later our adventures would continue to be meaningful?  The origins of what we actually have gained through steadfast friendships can be significant, as we mark the passage of time again and again with similar gatherings.  Deja vu!

See you along The Way…

Myself, Scott, Louie, & Ric
Deja Vu - Ten Years Later
2023

Lessons Learned On The Water

It’s a lake once removed from the one on which we rent a cabin.  My Dad had been there on his own before, but on this day we loaded a canoe and two kayaks for him and me, plus three nephews.  Throughout the week on the main lake we had been catching some fish; most of them okay to decent by most accounts.  But on this newer lake, there was the hope for some pike or muskie, with the prayer that they’d be big.  The lake itself isn’t big water, but it’s water.  And although it's choked full of weeds across most of it, it apparently retained the necessary habitat that warranted an investigative fishing adventure.  It’s a lake that’s bordered by white pines instead of cabins, so it has that going for it as a wild flair.

Myself, Matthew, Max, Rowan, And Dad

After unloading the vessels, and loading up our gear, we split up; going in various directions.  I was in one of the solo kayaks and decided to work my way along the shoreline while casting into the soft stemmed bulrush.  Eventually I fished my way past an inlet creek to the eastern side of the lake.  It was at about that time that I had a big hit on my spinner bait lure; the one with the extra trailer hook that I like.  The fish was strong, fought hard, and when I got it up to the side of the kayak I was greeted with the toothy grin of a 30 inch northern pike.  In the distance I saw my Dad with Max and Matthew in the canoe down by the outlet, and Rowan in the other kayak was on the shoreline opposite from me.  Using my fish gripper, I lifted the fish up behind me and managed to get a selfie with part of it.  I elected to keep it, but without a dispatching club, I simply ran the rope stringer through its mouth and tied it onto the side of my kayak.  It was so chunky that it kept jerking my kayak around while I continued to fish.

Within several casts after that, I had a huge muskie follow my lure.  It must have been between 40 and 50 inches as it slowly cruised under my kayak, turned, and disappeared down into the weeds.  As I was positioned in my seat down next to the water, it was what you’d classify as up close and personal!  I froze, taking short little breaths, and after a brief wait, cast several times in the direction it had finned away, but to no avail.

I fished for a while longer and then got another hit from a pike, this one a 25 inch fish.  Rowan, upon seeing me with some action, paddled over to me and took a picture of me holding it up.

On a whim, not usually like me, I decided to keep this pike too.  Perhaps in the back of my brain I pictured a family fish fry, since we all enjoy the taste of fish and especially pike.  As I untied the first pike I had caught, and started to put the rope through the gills of the 25 inch pike, the 30 incher jerked and ripped the stringer from my hand.  Like a shot I saw it spiraling free down into the depths, I plunged my hand down into the water and managed to grab the very end of the yellow nylon rope.  With big eyes I looked at Rowan and said, “That was close!”  As I began to run it into the gills a second time, both of the pike simultaneously thrashed.  In the midst of the sudden turmoil within the close confines of the kayak, the wet stringer slipped from my hands again before I could recover!  The last thing I saw was the white bellies of two big pike and the tip of the yellow cord disappearing into the black deep.  I said a few frustrated words and sat there dumbfounded; unfortunately more dumb than founded.  There was absolutely nothing I could do but mutter to myself and stare at the water.  What had just happened?  Two prized fish were on a stringer down on the bottom of the lake and out of my sight.  I felt sick to my stomach.  Feelings of shame, guilt, embarrassment, and frustration flooded over me.  What I had done was so stupid.  I knew better than to have done what I had just done.  I switched out to my Red Eyed spoon lure, with the large treble hook on it, and ran it over and over through the water, hoping against all odds that I’d be able to snag the stringer and bring them back up.  All I could think of was the waste.  Taking something to eat is one thing.  Allowing something to suffer was another.  I felt as if I’d been selfish to think that I would need both fish.  In the midst of my casting and retrieving, two more muskies followed up to my kayak; somewhere in the 30-40 inch range.  They were tauntingly eerie in the way that they slowly cruised past me.

A bit later, when my Dad and the boys paddled up, I recalled the tragedy to them.  Literally as I was in the middle of retelling the details of my loss, the two pike and yellow stringer suddenly surfaced a mere 10 feet off my bow, splashed, and dove back down again.  I continued casting to snag them and hoped they would repeat their performance, but that would be the last I would see of my stringer of pike.  My Dad practically had to pull me off the lake when it was time to quit.  I didn’t want to leave!  As I helped load the kayaks, I rationalized that the 25 inch pike probably had a chance of pulling off the stringer, but there was no way that the 30 inch would.  Either it would stay tangled down in the weeds for a snapping turtle, or somewhere a yellow stringer would soon decorate one of the local eagle nests.  A blue ribbon for a prized find.  Finders keepers, losers weepers.

The rest of that afternoon I was depressed.  I sat on the swing outside of our cabin and talked to my sister for a while.  When it rained briefly, I took a 40 minute nap.  Afterwards, the family gathered at our cabin for a pork roast we had cooked in a crockpot, I read for a spell, and then we capped off our evening with ice cream in the small town not too far away.  It had been a day.

Making The Most Of An Otherwise Difficult Day

The following morning I took a walk down to the public boat launch and back to help clear the cobwebs from my head.  I felt like I needed to do something to get out of the funk I was in after the previous day’s disaster.  After breakfast, a couple of us went on a morning boat ride with my Mom in the resort’s pontoon raft.  While out we saw several eagles roosting in trees along the shoreline.  And then together with my parents and niece Maggie, we drove to a coffee shop where my wife was already working on some school work for her Master’s Degree, before we headed out to a cranberry bog and farm.  It was a great little trip on back country roads where we talked, saved turtles trying to cross on the blacktop, and munched on some of the packages of dried cranberries that I had purchased.

By lunch time my Dad had had about enough.  I think he felt like it was time to get me back in the saddle again and out fishing.  Time was a wastin’!  With the rest of the family busy with their own activities, we strapped his canoe onto his trailer and headed back over to the smaller lake; the scene of yesterday’s accidental crime.

After launching, we worked our way around the lake, pitching various lures to and fro.  Dad worked from the stern and I manned the bow.  Between the two of us and the gunwales, in the bottom of the canoe, was my brand new, rubber meshed, landing net.  It had a big hoop, extendable handle, and was the very one that Matt Nelson (aka: NDYakAngler) uses on his YouTube channel.  It’s nothing more than an Ozark Trail special from Walmart, but I secretly hoped it would help land a big fish!

After working our way from one side of the lake to the other several different times, and drifting in the slight breeze, I had a solid strike between mats of underwater foliage; in what appeared to be a deeper channel.  The fish swung our bow around, made a run, and then double backed under the canoe; with the sound of my pole’s tip slapping underneath us as the reel drag whined.  My pole was aimed out over the port side of Dad’s olive green, 14 foot Wenonah, but my line and the fish were somewhere over off the starboard.  The canoe spun under finned propulsion as Dad tried to guide us with his paddle.  Gradually I gained an advantage, saw it was a muskie, and managed to scoop it into my net on one of its numerous passes.  It was my third muskie in as many years at that point, but the first in my net.  Dad handed me his fish gripper so I could hook it onto its jaw, lift it, and have him take my picture.  It was a great scene and a great memory that would now be etched into my brain.  Who would know that somewhere in the waters behind that awesome snapshot, two pike were probably tangled in the weeds down below the surface?  I extracted the lure, eased the great fish into the cool water, and released the gripper; working its body back and forth until the 39 inch muskie slid off from my fingers.  A fish and experience like that helps to ease the pain of a mishap.

For the next half hour or so we continued to fish.  Dad caught and released a small pike and I had a trailing pike and muskie; neither of which were interested in actually hitting my lure.  We headed to shore, packed up our gear, and drove back along the dusty two track road; smiles etched on our faces.

That evening, with our family gathered around, we had an excellent dinner of tacos before several of us headed out for a sunset pontoon raft ride.  We had an osprey and eagle fly overhead and were able to get a great picture of them both.  The capstone of the evening, however, was the loon that surfaced as we slowly motored with hardly a ripple.  It was only 10-15 feet off the side of us, and actually made its wild tremolo call several times with us right there next to it.  It was exhilarating, and each of us found ourselves in awe of the spectacle.  It’s a sound that encapsulates the Northwoods.

So too the Northwoods can be an opportunity to catch a big fish.  Having a Northwoods experience as I did, surrounded by the actual Northwoods, is memorable.  It brings clarity as to what really lurks in the deep.  Being blessed with the encounter of a muskie, after such a heavy loss and painful learning experience, is nothing short of a gracious gift.  It’s one of the many lessons I’ve learned while out on the water.

See you along The Way…

____________________

Morning At The Cabin

An Osprey

A Bald Eagle

Dad

Mom

A Loon

Generating A Generational Gathering

 

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.

See you along The Way…

Warmth From The Cold

 

‘Tis normally the water fresh,

     That cleanses the soul within,

But air that’s crisp can do the thresh,

     Freeing mind from stalks of din.

The cold sinks deep and makes it hard,

     For nimbleness of fingers,

Mittens fall short without regard,

     The painful numbing lingers.

On-ward I hike throughout the woods,

     Hiding tracks on bottomlands,

Stealth my trek under snow that would,

     Cover deeds with icy bands.

A tarp that’s strung, blocks wind and blame,

     Maple limb is cut to length,

Grass, twigs, and sticks ignite the flame,

     Easing pain with veneered strength.

‘Twas by my choice for such exploit,

     Where I find myself to hide,

Frozen fingers that do not point,

     River’s edge my only guide.

My sidekick dog is wrapped up twice,

     Once by snow and once by quilt,

Griddled food cooks and smells entice,

     Heaped coals without trace of guilt.

Unheralded taste, sense delight,

     Cockles of the heart are warmed,

Fingers don’t store such heat to spite,

     They don’t at all, so be warned!

I pack with breaks, hands plunged in fire,

     Attempts ward off frozen flesh,

Pup’s patience often belies her,

     Plunged headlong, our prints are fresh.

We traverse North against the wind,

     Powdered snow, thick sheets of ice,

Adventure we’ll never rescind,

     Until next, mem-ries suffice.

Destination and hastened glee,

     Our journey comes to an end,

Prayers battled cold on bended knee,

     Such outings my heart depends!

See you along The Way…

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

The Painful Numbing Lingers

A Tarp That's Strung Blocks Wind And Blame

My Sidekick Dog Wrapped Up Twice

River's Edge My Only Guide

Griddled Food Cooks And Smells Entice

Unheralded Taste, Senses Delight

Cockles Of The Heart Are Warmed

Pup's Patience Often Belies Her

I Pack With Breaks, Hands Plunged In Fire

Destination And Hastened Glee,
Our Journey Comes To An End,
Prayers Battled Cold On Bended Knee,
Such Outings My Heart Depends.