Sensory Overload (Part#2 Of 3)

You probably learned at an early age about each of the body’s 5 senses that allow us to see, hear, smell, taste, and touch.  And while these senses grant us the unique opportunity to connect with our surroundings, they can also enrich our experiences, offer an element of protection, or work together as a synergistic unit to make the whole stronger than the individual part.  Some may even claim a 6th sense that allows them the ability to know or understand something without the use of the body’s original five; a type of intuitive knowledge or perception within ourselves.

On the cusp of heading North to kick start those senses, and fulfill a lifelong dream of a picture that had been rattling around inside my head, I finished the preparation necessary to pull the trigger and hit the road. (Click here to go back & read Part#1)  After packing gear, I set to work on putting my food together.  It took a bit longer than I would have liked, but I stayed relaxed and followed the course I had prepared ahead of time on my packing list.  I made it to bed by midnight.

With my senses on high alert, I woke at 5:00, put the dry bags of camping equipment into the old Jeep, and then worked on securing my new canoe onto the roof rack.  I said goodbye to my wife Cindy, who was up by then getting ready for work, and pulled away from the house by 6:30.  I filled up with gas at a nearby station and drove into the darkness.  It would be an early morning where I could watch the eastern sky glow pink and the sun peek forth while traveling up through Wisconsin on Interstate#39 to Madison, US Highway#151 through Fond du Lac, OshKosh, and Appleton, to Interstate#41 around Green Bay and into the state of Michigan.

Once into Michigan’s Upper Peninsula I began to grow hungry.  There was only one thing on my mind at that point - Michigan’s “Yooper Soul Food” as it’s lovingly called; better known as pasties.   Yooper is slang for someone from the U.P. - Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. The pasty arrived in America along with immigrants from Great Britain; specifically the Cornish people from the county of Cornwall on England’s southwest corner.  Many of these people settled in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula where copper and iron mining was prevalent.  The pasty was a perfect food to have during a hard work day, with its flaky crust pocket filled with beef, potatoes, rutabaga, and onion.  Some people eat pasties with ketchup, and I’ve been known to dip it in it.  Some apparently use gravy, which is a sure fire way to show you’re a tourist.  But when bought fresh and warm, I simply like peeling back the foil wrapper, watching the steam waft into the air, and delving into a mouthful of goodness.  A well made pasty is hearty, sticks to your ribs, and delicious!  The smell and taste are a step back into history for Michigan and myself growing up as a lad.  For that reason it’s a sensory overload worth every single bite!

After stopping by Dobber’s in Escanaba, I drove over to nearby Gladstone and parked next to the beach and harbor to eat the pasty while looking out over Little Bay de Noc.  The wind was crazy and rocked my Jeep.  White caps out in the middle channel raced each other south to warmer climates.  I could feel a little apprehension rising inside my chest about paddling in it later that afternoon.  Before getting back on the road, I stopped by a little IGA grocery store to pick up a can of stew that I realized I had forgotten to pick up for one of my camp meals.

Typically when my wife and I visit our daughter and son-in-law in Waco, Texas, we love to go to a favorite food truck-now turned restaurant-named Yaki.  The smoked salmon with coleslaw and rice makes my mouth water just thinking about it!  When I went through the U.P. this summer on the way to camp with my cousins, I picked up some smoked whitefish.  After setting up our sites, we made our version of that Yaki meal.  It turned out great and I meant to duplicate that my first night canoeing and camping.  Although still content from the pasty, I could almost smell and taste the evening’s smoked fish meal.

NATIONAL FOREST RANGER STATION

After a quick stop at the Hiawatha National Forest Ranger Station in Rapid River, I headed further east along U.S. Highway#2 in search of a little shop selling smoked fish.  That venture, while noble, took literally way too long.  In my mind I could see pasty and smoked fish shops every few miles along Highway#2.  Over the years I’ve traveled that route hundreds of times and have stopped by many of them.  But do you think I could find one?  The wind was still howling, it was now overcast while starting to drizzle, and I had already passed by two different roads heading North to where I needed to go.  I was beginning to drive way out of my way!  As a last ditch effort I stopped at “Foxy’s Den Convenience Store” near Garden Corners, who then suggested I try “Woody’s Outpost” in Thompson another 11 miles away, before the dinner idea of smoked fish and rice fluttered away like leaves in the wind.  It was then that I simply turned and headed up country road #149.  Apparently most family run fish shops are further along the north side of Lake Michigan between Manistique and St. Ignace.

When the road I was on ended in a “T” at Indian Lake, there in front of me was a sign for smoked fish; a mere four miles to the right.  I sat there while the windshield wipers kept beat with my heart rate.  The temperature was plummeting, I had lost a good hour driving around, and here was this temptation to make things right again.  I turned and headed northeast, trying to simply enjoy the journey.  When I turned into the driveway for the Jensen Fishery, I could see it didn’t look promising.  A sign said something to the effect that they were open on Thursdays and Fridays, but upon peaking in the window, it looked like they were closed for the season.  I attempted to call the numbers provided to see if the owner lived in the house next door.  Maybe they’d pick up the phone, laugh at my predicament, and offer to run over and pull something out of the refrigerator to resurrect my evening - all before sending me on my way with a smile and word of encouragement.  Nobody answered.

At that point I was about a mile or two from Manistique on the northshore of Lake Michigan and just off the same Highway#2 that I had turned from 45 minutes beforehand.  I quickly thought, “What the heck…  Let’s see if there’s a downtown market!”  No such luck; it apparently was just not meant to happen.

I called out, “Rhines, quit screwing around.  It’ll be dark in 3 hours!”  Adding mentally, “And I still need to drive to the trailhead, unpack, load up, paddle, and set up camp!”  Nervous energy began to settle in.  In retrospect, it was a good thing I had picked up that can of stew back in Gladstone.  Tonight’s dinner was going to be fast and without any of the fanfare often associated with open fire cooking.

I did enjoy driving the dirt roads leading up to the Indian River near the small town of Steuben and into the Hiawatha National Forest.  The man at Foxy’s had told me the town was pronounced a bit differently than the way I had spoken it to him.  He said that if I mentioned the town of Steuben in the way that I had, the locals would immediately know I wasn’t from around those parts.  I had given him a knowing smile and nod.  Having grown up near Gaylord, Michigan, just south of the Straits of Mackinac, and now on the northern stateline of Illinois, I knew full well when out-of-towners slaughter a location’s pronunciation.  Once upon a time in Michigan we had referred to people who were obviously outsiders as, “Fudgies”.  It was a term of endearment for tourists who bought the homemade fudge that was famous for that area, but who also drove the economy and allowed the small towns and villages to survive and flourish.

Traveling dirt roads that afternoon reminded me of the Pigeon River State Forest where I grew up in Northern Lower Michigan; a kaleidoscoped tunnel amid autumn’s spectacular colors.  Once at the Wilderness trailhead, I scouted out the portage from the parking lot down to Big Island Lake.  I then proceeded to put on all the clothes that I had to build layers.  It was cold, especially with the 20 plus mile an hour winds.  

Two other vehicles were in the lot.  One was a truck from Michigan, and the other was a minivan from Wisconsin.  I unloaded the canoe, removed the Thule brackets, and then organized my bags.  It took two trips to carry everything to the lakeside, and I could see that I was about to learn firsthand how to do what I had been reading about for years in books and most recently observing on videos.

After having watched the YouTuber, “Woodsy” launching from this same exact shore, in addition to studying the map I had picked up this summer, I knew I had to paddle through a long section of lily pads to reach the open water.  The lake supposedly had pike and muskie in it, but due to time limitations, I would have to try fishing on a later day.  I had brought along my large landing net for that very reason!

I smiled to myself as I paddled my new Nova Craft Canoe for the first time outside of the practice pond at Rutabaga Paddlesports where I’d bought it.  It felt good in the water.  I paddled using my kayak paddle, for seemingly more control.  When I hit the open water beyond the lily pads, however, the situation got real very quickly.

While I’ve grown up paddling canoes and eventually kayaks, I was having a difficult time controlling where I wanted to go, and found myself surfing small whitecaps.  I felt a tinge of stress as I faced the unknown factors of my camp destination, the duration of the rain, the fast approaching night, and the temperatures dipping down to 30 degrees.  I coached myself through the situation saying, “If Woodsy was able to do this with the wind she endured in her first video, I can do this too…just relax, think, and take your time!”  Once I convinced myself that there was no real rush, I quartered the wind and waves to the other side of the lake and then angled my way to the island.  Unfortunately I could see a canoe already up on the shore at that designated site.  I knew from the map that a second site was located at the far end; down near the large trumpeter swans cruising the shoreline.  I made my way towards that site and found it to be open!

FINDING A SITE
SUNLIGHT IN THE RAIN

Feelings of relief and accomplishment flooded over me in addition to heavier rain.  I looked around and made mental notes about the series of steps I would need to take to be most efficient and take action.  The rest of the evening was spent unpacking, setting up my camp, lashing down my canoe in the prevailing winds (that were racing down the length of the lake and directly into my site), choosing a tree to hang my food up away from animals, and building a fire to heat up my stew.  I documented the process with a couple of pictures as I worked.  Eventually the rain stopped as the sun set and the temperature bottomed out.  I washed my dishes lakeside, using my headlamp to find appropriate footing while balancing on a downed tree.

SUNSET AFTER THE RAIN
THE COLD SETTLES IN

When I crawled into my tent a few minutes before 8:00 I was curious how the night would go.  The mantra of, “So many firsts” rang in my head; my first time using the tent, sleeping mat, and cold weather sleeping bag.  Would I be warm enough?

The relentless wind lulled me to sleep fairly quickly, and although I stirred about every 3 hours, I was able to drift back to sleep each time.  I felt somewhat protected, tucked away between a lakeshore berm and a hill rising up into the woods.

When I woke with the first rays of sunshine, I stayed hunkered and warm within my down bag and began reading the first article from my newly acquired (Fall Edition) of the Boundary Waters Journal.  At that moment I heard the distinct whirring of what could only be a drone, and thought, “Are you kidding me?”  Here I was hoping to camp and escape for a few days, but apparently I’d stepped headlong into the jagged jaws of a “Big Brother” trap; someone spying on my where-a-bouts.  Without actually seeing it from inside my tent, I heard the drone traveling along the shoreline past my site.  What I wanted to do was to go out and throw something at it, knock it out of the sky, and smash it.  What I actually did was lay there until it moved off and I could relax enough to finish my article.

After changing out of my sleepwear, dressing back into my layers of clothes, and tidying my tent gear, I stepped out into the sunshine and cold.  As I walked the frosty leaf covered trail along the shore, I suddenly heard someone talking.  Looking out into the lake, a young man was paddling just beyond the lily pads while fishing and talking rather loudly to himself.  I surmised that this was the same person who had flown the drone; presumably to scope out where to fish that morning.  Who he was talking to and what he was saying remained a mystery.

On a side note, about a month after my trip a newly released video popped up on YouTube entitled, “3 Days Alone in Remote Michigan Wilderness!!”  I was curious where this was recorded so I clicked on it.  From the leaf color in the thumbnail picture I could see that it was set in the fall.  In a weird twist, I realized that not only did this person camp in the same wilderness area I had been in, but he was the one who had been camped on the island, flew the drone, and fished out in front of my site that first morning.  I couldn’t help myself and decided to comment on his post.  I mentioned that I had also come into the area on the same windy day that he had, in addition to the fact that I didn’t really appreciate the drone.  He graciously responded, saying that he hadn’t realized I was tucked back in that camp site and apologized.  He replied by saying that when he had learned drones weren’t allowed in the area he immediately stopped using it while camped there.  Of course it suddenly all made sense as to why he had been talking to himself out in the canoe as he had been in the middle of recording his video.  I also found out that some of his louder outbursts were the result of accidentally snagging his extra pole on a backcast and flinging it out into the lake.  It’s the kind of thing that’s pretty darn funny in retrospect, because if you’ve fished for very long at all, you’ve probably done something similar.  You may also know the pain he was experiencing as you try to contemplate how such a feat is even possible!  Fortunately he was able to snag the lost pole, and reel it up off the bottom of the lake using a large muskie lure to retrieve it.  It ended up being a success story on all accounts!  I appreciated his honest explanation within our typed dialogue and said that I’d give him a shout out; wishing him luck on his video channel (BassBros) in addition to hoping he’d achieve his goal of catching a muskie.  If anything, it once again proved that we live in an interesting, wild, and small world!

After walking the shoreline and peeking at the short portage into Mid Lake, a sudden “6th Sense Revelation” came upon me.  I wanted to paddle and portage so I could set up a different camp on another lake.  Staying at this site, while a great location, would have been like the million other times I’ve camped.  I had a desire to track further into what for me was uncharted territory.  Plus, although the wind was picking up, the clear blue skies motivated me to get packing.  Speaking of which, the pit toilet that was available a short distance from each site, was an outhouse without the house.  It literally was a stool in the woods, which was pretty cool; especially with low temperatures and a breeze!  You couldn't beat the view as sunlight filtered through the yellow leaves, popping with vibrantly contrasting colors.  It felt as if you were sitting upon a golden throne!

I returned to camp and quickly made a fire to heat some water.  Lowering the food bag that had been suspended a little way from my tent, I took out the little bags and containers of oatmeal, granola, brown sugar, raisins, and the fresh fruit of strawberries and blueberries.  It was a great warm meal to start the day.  I then repacked my tent and equipment into the dry bags.  The gear I carried over to the portage.  I simply paddled my canoe.

After having been in the shade of my campsite, the warmth of the sun over Mid Lake was a welcome friend.  The lake was also calm of wind; itself a pleasant surprise.  As I loaded my gear and checked the map, a couple came paddling into the portage.  In talking with them, I learned that they had come up from Fond du Lac, Wisconsin, had already been camping for over a week, and planned to stay two more nights; coming out on Friday the same as I planned to do.  While they were camped on Mid Lake’s only site, they were heading out to the trailhead to check on their vehicle and grab some more food from their cooler.  We talked about the lakes and some of the sites that they knew about.  Although he hadn’t been to it, the gentleman said that he had heard that there was a nice site up on a hilltop bluff several more lakes away.  It was nice to briefly talk to some people who knew the area firsthand and had plenty of experience paddling together in various places, including the B.W.C.A. in Minnesota.

And now, in my mind, everyone was accounted for that had been parked in the trailhead parking lot; the young man on the first lake’s island, and then the couple I had just met on lake number two.  Everything else was free of people and left me with the rest of the wilderness area; nothing but fresh air and sunshine as the saying goes. That was thrilling, exhilarating, and only slightly terrifying.  Being miles (or at least several lakes) away from the nearest human meant I needed to remain both vigilant and on my A-game.  Mistakes can happen, even with best laid plans, but being aware of my surroundings and thinking through various situations was vitally important. As I paddled out into Mid Lake I thought about the fact that this is where my “Spidey Senses” (or 6th sense) needed to be fully employed to stay safe while enjoying the experience.

I fished along the bank to the north end of the lake and to the short portage into Town Line Lake.  I got out and peaked at that lake, but opted against entering it since I couldn’t portage anywhere beyond it.  I decided that while the sun was out, and I had ample time, I would head southeast through the different lakes to the site on the lakeside hill mentioned by the couple from Fond du Lac.

The body of Mid Lake was long and narrow, but easily paddled.  In lieu of the kayak paddle I used the canoe paddle that had been gifted to me upon my retirement by the staff from Upham Woods Outdoor Learning Center near Wisconsin Dells, Wisconsin.  Each year we had taken our 5th grade students on a 3 day-2 night school trip to that environmental camp; creating wonderful experiences with our classes and nature.  The paddle they gave me was a thank you for my efforts over the years in arranging that trip.  Using the paddle allowed me to practice my J-stoke to keep the canoe aligned without switching sides with the paddle.

The portage from Mid Lake into Coattail Lake was fairly short, but the trail climbed straight up and over a high ridge before plummeting down to the water’s edge.  I carried my gear over first and then followed that trek with another trip carrying my canoe; a double portage.  The lake, like the others I had seen, had a beaver lodge along its shoreline.  I paddled to the far end to scout where there was a small outlet named Delias Run.  I found that it trickled through a dam of sticks eventually making its way towards little Center Lake. Doubling back to the nearby portage, I unloaded my dry bags.

The portage into McInnes Lake was much longer but it felt good to fully dive into carrying my gear.  The smells of autumn were strong with decaying leaves, fresh needles, and the scent of lake water drifting up over the ridge.  The shoreline at the entry point was comprised of deep, silty, muck so I threw some nearby logs and branches into it that allowed me to balance on them, load the canoe, and inch my way out into open water over the drop-off.

I paddled towards a point that extended into the lake from the starboard side of the shore.  The lake was rimmed by a high steep ridge, so the site itself was only accessed by scrambling up a cascading series of steps.  The view from the turret-towered cliff allowed me to see both ends of the lake.

CLICK BELOW FOR A VIDEO OF

THE CAMP ON THE CLIFF:

After setting up my tent and organizing the camp, I decided to go out and fish for an hour or so before coming back to cook dinner and settle in for the night.  Despite my best efforts, and using an array of classic lures, I wasn’t able to hook into anything.  It was starting to get colder and the wind was an issue again.  I tried the lightweight grappling hook anchor I had gotten from my Dad, but the lake dropped off so quickly and deeply that the wind, which was more in control than I was, blew me helter-skelter.  Unless I positioned myself within arm’s reach of the bank, I didn’t have enough cordage attached to the anchor to reach bottom and if it did touch, the wind dragged it along as if I was purposely dredging the lake.

THE SHORELINE LOOKED LIKE MY
SIGNATURE PINE TREE & WATER LOGO

While fishing I was under the watchful eye of a bald eagle.  Using my camera, and a lot of patience, I captured a series of great pictures of the giant bird.  Taking such unique pictures, with its stark white head in sharp contrast to the background colors of the northwoods, eased the pain of not hooking into any fish.

Arranging the straight grained white pine that had been split and left as a gift by the last camper, I made a fire and cooked up a brat with a stir fry of squash and tomatoes on the new aluminum skillet. I wanted to sit and enjoy the fire, but darkness was again catching me by surprise and I still needed to clean up the dishes and put things away before bed.

THE RISING MOON WAS AWESOME!

Thank heavens the rising moon was nearly full and presented itself in spectacular form as I prepared to enter my tent.  The wind had died down somewhat, and with clear skies, I would have a gigantic night light throughout the evening.  After inflating my sleeping pad, I looked over the map and then burrowed down into my sleeping bag to read the second article in my Boundary Waters Journal.  I was elated about what I had accomplished throughout the day, but even more, I was excited about the fact that once I awoke I would have the entire day to hang out around base camp.  It promised to be a sensory overload that would continue giving me the chance to explore and soak in all the experiences that Big Island Lake Wilderness had to offer!

See you along The Way…

Living The Dream And Pulling The Trigger (Part#1 Of 3)

 

It’s a common phrase, for those who want to give a quick, flippant response to anyone asking them how they’re doing, when they say, “I’m living the dream!”  In reality they may or may not be living their actual dream.  Perhaps they are, or maybe the dream is closer to stating, “It is what it is” and they’re life at this point simply amounts to trying to survive and make it from one day to the next.  Regardless, it’s our dreams, linked to our hopes, passions, and interests that provide the fuel that drives us as much as anything will; perhaps even motivating us to try and live out the pictures in our mind’s eye.

I suppose I come by the ability to visualize things into fruition as naturally as anybody.  As a young boy, my Dad drew a picture that eventually became what our farm looked like as my sisters and I were growing up; complete with goats and a family sketched around a barnyard.  I remember seeing that picture once and felt an immediate connection to it.  Similarly, as a young girl my Mom drew a picture of a cabin type house that had a gambrel pitched (barn-style) roof, a picket fence, and several trees of different sizes.  She still has it somewhere, and although we didn’t have a picket fence, my Dad and I did erect a rail fence that bordered the east and south sides of the front yard of the home my parents had built within the pines and hardwoods above Sparr valley.  Our family often joked that we had a barn with a house shaped roof, and a house with a barn shaped roof.

It’s no secret that I love the outdoors; having grown up on that small farm in the Northwoods.  I love the diversity of trees in the forest, the mossy swamps where headwater streams bubble forth, and rolling hills that help give depth and perspective to the layers of land and water begging to be explored.  Getting out to hike, fish, and camp in such environments binds my love of such places with the mental image I have of myself.

While I have made fires countless times using flint and steel with a small scrap of char cloth, it was shortly after the beginning of the pandemic in 2020 that I started collecting information from various websites and videos so I could learn how to make fire from a bow and drill.  I have several journal pages of notes; complete with sketches and lists of necessary materials.  It was through that process that I would later stumble upon Joe Robinet.  In fact, according to one of my journals, it was on Saturday, November 28th, 2020 after typing up “solo adventures” in the search bar on YouTube, that I watched my first video of his entitled, "Alone in the Wild - A 5 Day Solo Excursion.”  Since then I’ve watched every single adventure and bushcraft video Joe has ever posted.  Once I exhausted his library of available content, I moved over to Xander Budnick.  He too has subject matter linked to adventure trips, and you can follow the learning process he goes through as he connects with his new found passion of hiking and paddling the North.  While I have slowly and surely watched all of Xander’s videos, I’m not one to quickly jump from one video personality to another.  Once the algorithm picks up your interests, however, they throw every possible post in your direction, hoping you’ll get hooked to a common theme.  There's a lot of garbage out there under the guise of outdoor adventure; people trying to make a fast buck (I guess) by pushing products, poor quality videos and content, or individuals selling their souls as scantily dressed people out in the wilderness.  The Northland I know, while beautiful, would chew those people up and spit them out.  And although I’ll admit I have stumbled down a rabbit hole or two, I backed out of those “nature videos” as quickly as I could to save myself.  Besides, there’s that balance between watching someone else doing something you’re interested in and then pulling the trigger to live that dream yourself!

This spring, as I was finishing the last of Budnick’s past videos, one did pop up from someone who was just getting started with YouTube and adventure paddling.  Robinet and Budnick’s videos are cool to be sure, and I’d love to try some of their paddle and camping trips, but at least for right now, the locations for those adventures are beyond my means and grasp.  Both young men live in Canada and have access to vast acres in provincial parks and what’s referred to as “crown land.”  The new adventurer I’ve enjoyed watching is a woman that goes by the name of Woodsy.  Although she is apparently fairly new to camping and heading out solo into the wilds, she is humble and gives you honest dialogue of what she’s learning.  What I like most, however, is the fact that (at least so far), she’s headed out to various places within my home state of Michigan where I grew up.  While I am familiar with some of the wild areas she’s gone to, and have even gone to a few of those locations in the past, she has introduced some settings I never even knew existed.  That helped open up some attainable possibilities for me.

Enter this spring, summer, and fall.  I retired from teaching, spent a lot of time going through and cleaning out my classroom, and then researching outdoor gear.  Research can be both exciting and exhausting.  After a while, and upon reading a freight train load of descriptions, reviews, and comparisons for the different brands that are available for each individual piece of equipment, it leans closer to just plain exhaustion.  In short order you simply want to have the decision made.  For me personally, it’s difficult to pull the trigger and make a decision to purchase something, especially when items can be expensive.  Sometimes a review says it’s a great product, and you like it, but then several people will comment that they've had issues with the zippers or something along those lines.  In the end you just want to get your money’s worth and purchase something of quality.

Fortunately for me, I did have some gift certificates to use, and found other items on sale.  I also asked questions to obtain feedback that would help with my decision making.  Of course I already had camping gear that I use when I head out to the river or woods for several days at a time.  It’s gear I can haul in my old Silver Jeep or load into my barge of an aluminum canoe.  It all works great, and I’ve refined it into simplicity as our family got older and branched out on their own.  However, for me to pursue the dream of going out solo on a trip where I would need to paddle and portage from one water source to another, it was going to require a somewhat different array of ingredients other than what I had; gear that was lighter in weight, smaller, and able to keep me warm in colder temperatures.

I started looking more seriously in August when I invited my Dad to travel up to Madison, Wisconsin with me to Rutabaga Paddlesports.  After taking a screenshot of Woodsy’s canoe and asking her a few questions about it, Rutabaga staff member Connie set me up to test paddle that brand and a couple others by that same manufacturer.  At the end of that day, I still wanted to do some more thinking before pulling the trigger, for although I loved the material it was made of for durability, I was worried about which length to go with and the overall weight of the canoe.  It was nowhere near the crazy weight of my aluminum canoe that I’ve soloed with on multiple river trips, but I still wasn’t sure I’d be able to adequately lift this newer one, with gear, and carry it over land as I portaged into nearby bodies of water.

Over Labor Day weekend I ordered a lightweight solo tent on sale from REI.  Following that purchase I put things on the back burner for a while as I instead invested time alongside my wife and family, during the decline and passing of my beloved mother-in-law.  Those were important times to stay in a holding pattern, and simply be present in the moment.  Life can be an adventure, but life can also be difficult in all its various facets.  Throughout her life my mother-in-law was vibrant, positive, and loved to gather people.  She took a vested interest in others while inquiring how a person was doing.  Her visitation was a reflection of those traits as people came together to celebrate her around an outdoor pavilion; flowers and her photo albums on display.  She would have absolutely loved that beautiful fall morning and you could almost imagine her going from one group of people to another, making sure that everyone was enjoying themselves.

Once the first week of October came along, I went up to Cabela’s in Sun Prairie, Wisconsin to use the gift cards given to me upon my retirement.  I spent a lot of time in a very small section of that store; literally only 4 or 5 aisles.  While there, I used my phone to research brands before putting several items into my cart…and then proceeded to take several items out of my cart; once again proving that it’s hard to pull the trigger on a purchase, even when it’s considered “free”.  I didn’t know 100% if these were going to be the best options, but it’s what was available at the store where I could use those cards.  Oh the frugality of a bargain shopper!  During that visit I purchased a foam pad, water filtration system, a couple of dry bags (one to use as a backpack), and then threw in a few variations of my favorite pike lure.  Online I purchased a Big Agnes sleeping mat, a MEC sleeping bag (the Canadian Version of REI), and the Boundary Waters Journal aluminum fry pan.

On Friday, October 11th I fittingly went back to Rutabaga in Madison to try to make a decision on a canoe.  I had a trip planned in less than a week, so I hooked up with staff member Brandon who spent the better part of the day with me.  We narrowed the search to the Nova Craft Prospector.  While I liked the one that was a blue steel color as it was made from a mixture of carbon and lightweight synthetic fiber, the one they had in stock lacked a good yoke that you use to carry the canoe on your shoulders.  In addition, it weighed a bit more, had wooden gunwales, and still had to come from their warehouse an hour away.  None of those were deal breakers.  It simply helped me make a decision according to what I was looking for.  Instead I chose the Prospector 14 aramid lite clear.  It was lightweight, had the yoke that you could attach, and was plenty long enough at 14 feet to haul me and my gear.  My days of wrestling heavy canoes onto my vehicle were over.  I’ll save my aluminum canoe for trips with (strong) friends!

Brandon was patient with my questions and decision making, and after getting some Thule pads for my roof rack, helped me set it up and load the new canoe onto my Silver Jeep.  At first I told him that I had some old straps and loops up under the engine I could use to attach the canoe, but after I explained this to him, and pulled on them to show their durability, we literally watched them explode into a cloud of dust.  I suddenly thought better of the situation and purchased the Thule system.  Especially as I eyed the brand new canoe sitting off to the side.  I didn’t need anything going haywire on my way home.  I’ve seen old hay bales that had been bound with wire and know what the wires look like after they’ve been cut!  The term "kattywompus" comes to mind!

Me And Brandon - At Rutabaga
Later I Noticed That I Was Wearing
Robinet's "Exploring" T-shirt
And Had Budnick's Brand
Of Canoe On My Jeep.
Coincidence?

Over the weekend I typed up a packing list and went over it multiple times.  Within it I included brand names of various equipment items because I ended up sharing it with some family members.  With the brand labels typed out they would at least have a starting point in case they had a desire to begin researching gear on their own.  With the trigger pulled, and my major purchases taken care of, I decided that I would simply fill the gaps with what I already had and make do.  I knew that some things would probably be scratched off the list or switched out after this first trip.  It would be a reasonable response when a particular piece of equipment doesn’t get used, doesn’t do what it’s supposed to do, or is too heavy.

Unfortunately the day before my inaugural excursion I called and learned that my cold weather sleeping bag that hadn’t shown up, had been shipped from British Columbia to Los Angeles, and then from L.A. to Chicago, but according to the tracking information, was being shipped back to MEC for some unknown reason.  I was assured that I would be refunded with a credit to my charge card.  So on a day that I needed to organize my gear and begin packing, I had to run back to Madison to find a lightweight, cold weather, sleeping bag.  Fortunately I found one that would work, that I was happy with, and that I could test out in the REI store.

Whew!  That was close.  The nights were predicted to be on the chilly side, and I needed something to keep me warm.  I spent the rest of that night going through my packing list and preparing for the trip that was to begin the following morning.  I was on the eve of living the dream and breathing life into that picture of adventure that had been floating around inside my head; in my mind’s eye.  It’s the dream where I would begin by setting the alarm to get up early (as if I’d need it), throw any remaining gear in my Jeep, and head for the wilds of the North before the sun peeked over the horizon.  What would come next? Big Island Lake Wilderness Area!

See you along The Way…

First Day Of School

First Day Of School Picture - 2024

Since as long as I can remember I’ve had a “First Day Of School” (often with a picture); dating back to the fall of 1971 when I started attending.  I can recall waiting in our driveway for the school bus as a kindergartner - at the top of the hill, on an unnamed road North of Sparr (known at that time simply as “Rural Route #1”), waiting to travel the seemingly long way to Johannesburg Elementary on the north-side of a small Kindergarten-12th grade building.  I had attended preschool the year before that with my teacher Mrs. Driscoll.  The preschool met in the basement of Gaylord’s small St. Andrew's Episcopal Church with the unique chalet style roof; a good deterrent for our heavy snowfall in Northern Michigan.  Mom was the one who drove me into town that year, and although foundational, it was only a couple of times a week.

I started at Joburg Elementary School a month after turning 5; the birthday when I received my blue scooter that I’d ride down the grassy hill off our backyard - dragging it by the handle back to the top or leaving it at the bottom until someone helped me.  Over the next few years a couple of the neighbor kids would congregate at our driveway before school because my Dad had put in a tetherball court just back from the road.  That meant that the pole was a maple tree cut from the woods, fixed at the top with an eye bolt that the rope and ball hung from, which was a perfect remedy to while away the time as us kids waited to be picked up by the bus.

First Day Of School Picture - 1971

As I reflect back, I guess I’ve had a first day of school for most of my life; 54 years to be exact.  I’m not sure how the years slipped by like that!  It feels monumental, and yet overwhelming at the same time.  It’s kind of John Henry-esque.  I love John’s fortitude, his style, and the legacy he left.  He’s outright my favorite folk tale hero.  And while he wins against the machine in the well known ballad, he dies from that contest with his hammer in his hand.  I suppose I feel something like that.  For 18 of those 54 years I was a student; preschool through college.  And after a year of student teaching, getting married, and working for a lawn service (the last while sending out resumes with a cover letter), I was hired and taught in a 5th grade classroom for 35 years; all in the same K-8 district.

Right this minute the kids and teachers of that district are putting the final touches on their first week of school.  They’ve been using these first few days to reacquaint themselves with routines, introduce expectations, and begin to build healthy relationships that will catapult them into next week’s full 5 days and the school year ahead.  I know this because it’s ingrained in my make-up and DNA.  I could teach with my eyes blind folded and one arm tied behind my back, because I have done it for so long, I was good at it, and loved it to boot!

As for me right now?  I’m sitting on our back deck, under the eaves and close to the house, journaling my thoughts into this worn composition book.  Not because it’s in the shade, although that’s a plus even with the unseasonably cool weather we’re having right now, but because a spider has spun an intricate web between the other chairs, table, and collapsed umbrella.  For 35 years I’ve taught science, and today will not be the day I break one of my many mottos which stated, “Don’t kill it unless you plan on eating it.  If you don’t plan on eating it, don’t kill it!”  Those were words to live by as a teacher instructing 10 and 11 year olds, and especially when it’s a cross orbweaver spider!  So the arachnid is getting free reign of the table area right now, and I’m writing with this journal in my lap.  Good luck little fella.  May you snare a big juicy arthropod.  From the bits of dried exoskeletons on the tabletop, you’ve done just that over the last couple of days!

So yes, I’m retired now; whatever that means.  Those I began teaching with (the same teachers that started soon after the 3 one-room school houses combined) have been retired for some time now.  I’m simply joining them.  Again, I’m not sure how the years slipped by like that, but they have.  I consider myself a link between those who established our district and those who are now teaching and setting new standards to match the changing times.  I don’t mean that I’m stuck between the past and present.   I see myself as a combination of both; having started with chalkboards & the occasional use of calculators, and then moving to whiteboards & a computer lab, before settling on Smart Boards & one-to-one student Chromebooks.  There has always been a past that goes further back than whatever we can recall, and there will always be a present going forward beyond what we can imagine; for all of us.  The jump in technology in the span of years that I taught, however, has been astronomical.

If I gained a millimeter of jumping ability for everyone who has asked me how retirement is treating me (insert Mr. Rhines’ metric system speech number #124.8b), then I could easily tomahawk dunk by now!  I get it, you need a standard question to start a conversation.  It’s like asking an 18 year old, “How’s college going?”  Assuming they are going that route over entering the trades, signing up for the military, or diving into the job force.  My standard answer this summer has been, “I don’t know yet…”  I spent all of June dismantling my museum of a classroom.  The first part of July was time to travel; with my wife to visit family, and then camping in Northern Michigan with my cousins, before settling into jobs around the house.  I’m not sure where August went, other than writing thank you cards for retirement gifts.  I guess I was simply trying to search for a routine while getting regrounded in running and biking.  Part of that time was dealing with the guilt that rises from knowing that teachers were preparing for school and I wasn’t.  Or that I’m retired but, “still so young” - as if the sacrifices or “sell my soul” attitude I’ve had all these years while teaching, coaching, being the athletic director, working intramurals, mentoring, or co-leading our environmental club wasn’t enough of a reason.  Not to mention the preparation for the annual creek walk day, 5th grade camp, summer camps, or any number of various activities.  These were choices, not chores in the sense of obligations.  I grew up on a small farm, so I know what chores are, and I loved 95% of those too!  Minus weeding the garden in the hot sun, although it often had its rewards with a trip to the lake to cool off once my sisters and I stopped whining and finished the task.  It’s where I learned firsthand the whole idea of delayed gratification.  What I did at school was what I loved to do because I chose to do it; it provided some of my identity and purpose, as many people feel who have connected with their careers.  Whatever task I had decided to do at school involved everything I had; sometimes spread over the many activities, but something I could always hang my hat on with pride at the end of the day.

About now school is letting out and the staff is talking in the hallways; themselves excited about the coming weekend, and I have to wonder, “What now?”  I recently saw a sit down conversation between Oprah Winfrey and NBC’s meteorologist, Al Roker, who was about to turn 70 years old.  When contemplating time, getting older, and next steps, her advice to him was, “When you don’t know what to do, do nothing.” In other words, “Be still.”  Al replied as a network spokesperson by saying, “We don’t like dead air!”  Personally, that bell rang loud and true; right upside my head.

Colleagues from yesteryear suggested that I go do something last week as the students returned to school.  Since my wife was working and enjoying her job in the library at a nearby college, I took a solo trip Up North into Wisconsin to camp and fish; a couple of other passions I have.  For me, trips like that don’t lead to being still and doing nothing.  It seemed I was constantly moving, while burning energy.  That’s often how I like to relax.  Don’t get me wrong, there were times when I would sit and either observe nature around me or read from the two books I have going right now; Gathering Moss by Robin Wall Kimmerer, and The Backyard Adventurer by Beau Miles.  The first book I bought at a cool, quaint, shop in Waco, Texas while visiting our daughter and son-in-law, and the second was given to me by my kids upon my retirement.  I guess I also relaxed the first night after setting up camp, when I woke up from only two hours of sleep to the light of a nearly full moon; listening to the barred owls calling in the hollow, coyotes laughing up on the ridges, and a family of raccoons trooping around my tent and picnic table foraging for anything I may have forgotten to store away back up in my Jeep - which fortunately I had not.  The second night of my stay I slept like the dead.

When I burned energy I was often cooking over an open fire (cutting and prepping food), trout fishing in a creek that bounces between bluffs of exposed Cambrian sandstone (in waders against the current), or running beautiful dirt trails (in what would otherwise be known as rugged terrain).  I wanted to journal while sitting outside my tent, but the process of what I deem as camping kept me from doing that this particular time, until I could return home and reflect.

I took my obligatory “First Day Of School” picture this year, but I’m standing on a gravel bar in the shade of a hemlock covered bluff (as opposed to standing beside the flag hanging on our home, or in front of the school).  At least I remembered to smile with my eyes open this year.  In 1989, my first year teaching, the photographer captured a picture of me with my eyes closed.  I didn’t care or know any better, so I didn’t participate in “retakes.”  Plus, those were the days when you waited for the film to be developed before we knew what digital photography really meant.  Consequently, I was not in that year’s class picture or school yearbook, except for one or two random shots and the one where I’m standing next to my first basketball team as their coach.  Suddenly I cared!  From then on, I always made sure my eyes were open; and I mean that literally and figuratively - as an awareness to what’s going on around me.

School, teaching, and living your passions in general, are meant to be relational.  It’s one way that we associate directly and make connections.  When I watch my favorite TV show, Alone, it’s what the contestants are always whittled down to…regardless of whether they are starving, injured, or pushing themselves to the utmost in order to win the whole shebang.  They eventually desire some degree of human contact; be it friends or family, past or present.  That applies to the most introverted hermit, to the most outgoing life of the party.  We all need relationships of some kind, which is why I love the irony in the multi-layer title Alone.  It’s also why I like the stories behind those first day of school pictures.

While I myself am going to miss many of the connections I have at school, I am looking forward to maintaining them, albeit under slightly different circumstances.  After a healthy break, I would entertain being a guest speaker or storybook reader at school, baking treats for the staff, attending an after school activity, or coming in for an occasional lunch simply to visit.  One of the retirees from the past used to come back to eat lunch with the staff in the teacher’s lounge whenever we had, “Government Chicken Day” (as he called it).  I always found that hilarious, but it made sense as well to periodically reconnect.

In the meantime, and as I’m redefining myself, I’ll follow the advice written by the authors in the books that I mentioned.  Kimmerer stated, “Mosses have a covenant with change; their destiny is linked to the vagaries of rain.  They shrink and shrivel while carefully laying the groundwork for their renewal.  They give me faith.” (37)  Maybe it’s because I taught science for 35 years, but I love that whole idea of preparing now for the unknown of the future.  We all do that, knowingly or unknowingly, because even NOT making a decision is a decision.  She simply chose to convey that through the idea of mosses.  And from Miles’ book, he wrote, “To slow down ever so slightly, realising that a story needs purpose, and purpose is built on the everyday and ordinary, is harder than it sounds given there’s so much of it… [This means that] smaller tales build within the bigger picture like muscle supported by bone.” (14)

All in all, the takeaways for this are to find something that can be therapeutic.  I chose reflecting in a journal to put some of the thoughts and feelings of my own education and years of educating into words; while contrasting that with my time in the outdoors.  Events and experiences that you have lived through are not the end all, but they are building blocks - in all their facets of being good, bad, or indifferent.

Oh, and remember to smile with your eyes open for that “First Day Of School” picture; wherever that may be and no matter what particular moment you are actually capturing.  There’s a story behind that snapshot.  I’ll remember that next week when I gather with my colleague-friends at the retiree breakfast.  Say Cheese!

See you along The Way…

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…

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CLICK BELOW FOR A VIDEO OF

THE TRICKLING, CLEAR WATER OF

THE SECRET CHANNEL: