Downright Spooky

            We awoke to darkness as we had to get our daughter to the high school by 6:15 a.m.  She was traveling with her cross country team to cheer on the teammates competing in the State Sectionals.  As it slowly grew light outside, it revealed gloom, cold air, and drizzle.  It was going to be one of those days.  Not a bad day, just one of those days to get some chores done.  It started with cleaning up dog poop from the backyard, taking down the fencing around the garden, and then taking out the stakes and wire baskets that marked which vegetables were which; in addition to holding up the cherry tomato plants.  As the drizzle increased, I moved inside and cleaned off the dust that had built up on the fans in our bedrooms after a summer of use.  I was inside until the drizzle increased to a steady rain that was building up in our eavestroughs.  Those of you who own houses near mature trees know what came next.  Once in a blue moon you clean the troughs of the leaves when it’s warm and beautiful out.  The other forty-eleven times it is closer to what it was today; cold rain, soaked clothes, cold water, wet leaves and a slippery ladder.  In the end, the down spouts were cleared and the water released out into the yard.  I hooked up the hose to our rain barrel and ran it out to the arbor vitae bushes.  They like the extra water.  I like to think that when they receive the extra water, the bushes pretend they’re like their white cedar cousins, in some swamp up North, where the waters of some head-water stream are bubbling up out of the ground.  It was about then that the flocks of geese flew overhead, bucking the head wind and heading south.

            I threw some potatoes and eggs into my iron skillet for brunch, and finished cooking it up just before my son came home for a quick visit from college.  We split the meal, ate, and talked. 

Some of my cousins texted back and forth about life stuff; funny life stuff, and then I went and picked up my daughter when she and her team came back from the race.  I trimmed both of our dogs’ nails and then brushed them out in the garage.  Those were the necessary tasks before tackling the vacuuming; otherwise the shed dog hair quickly replaces what you clean up.  After a brief run over to school, to get some stuff to help prepare lesson plans, I stopped by and saw a neighbor who was out getting ready for Halloween.  He also works at school.  We talked about cabins, fish, family, students and birthday presents.  Soon kids were walking the neighborhood, so I got home to help pass out candy to “trick-or-treaters.”  I’ll admit that it’s fun to see past and present students.  For dinner I had a baked pasty, made from a real, live “Yooper” (person from Michigan’s UP - Upper Peninsula) that lives and has a restaurant down here in Roscoe, Illinois. 

The pasty was a part of a gift given to me by a student back at the beginning of the school year.  It was then that I started the fire in the fireplace.  It was perfect for today; a perfect way to end the day.

            It was a perfect way to end the day except it was bitter sweet.  It was bitter sweet because I was burning some of the last of the green ash tree that used to stand in our backyard next to the house and next to our patio.  True, it added to the leaves that built up in our gutters, but even more, it provided shade for a good six months of the year.  It was a great tree, that even in the few years we have lived here; I had been trimming into a shapely tree that centered between the house, the patio, and the neighboring spruce tree.

The year we bought the house-Ash Tree next to our home

            Enter an invasive species; the emerald ash borer.  It was first identified in North America in 2002 but it most likely was here in the early 1990’s; having come over from eastern Asia.  The guess is that it came over within the wooden boards used for crates, or the wooden braces used to stabilize the cargo on ships hauling freight.  The emerald ash borer is a metallic-green colored insect that during its larvae stage, chews through the live part of the tree between the outer bark and inner cork.  After a while the tree has so many holes in it, that it can’t send its life-blood sap up and down through the vascular tubes in its trunk and branches.  It’s a sad sight to witness, as the tree fights to live by sending out shoots and runners from areas that are still “alive.”  But the fate of the ash tree is inevitable.  Its devastation is downright spooky.  In addition to the tree that used to stand in our backyard, whole sections of forests in many states are now dead, with only the bare, branched arms left standing and lifted skyward.  Streets that were once lined with beautiful, old, American elm trees; trees that formed tunnels alongside houses with front porches in many neighborhoods in towns across America, became barren due to the destruction of Dutch Elm Disease that hit North America in the 1970’s and 80’s.  Most cities replaced the elm trees with the green ash tree.  Now those same streets are bare again, and it makes you wonder what’s next.  It honestly scares me when I think of other species of trees that I enjoy.  What will happen to them?  It’s like the “Dumbing Down of the World” when things destroy other things in areas where there is no natural checks and balances.  Ax handles and tool handles are just some of the items made from the ash tree; by-products of a shapely tree that’s been an important part of North America’s forests and a resource for development.

            The ash tree that died in our backyard came down this spring.  I wanted it gone before my son’s high school graduation open house.  I cut it down and cut up the main trunk and branches.  I burned up the smaller branches left behind.  The wood up to six inches thick, I stacked for firewood.  The ashes from the small branches, I sprinkled into the woods to share its nutrients with other trees and plants.  The larger chunks left from its trunk I will split this winter when the air is cold and crisp.  Ash is straight grained; it will pop and snap and split under the direction of an ax and wedge and mall.

Cut down & up over one weekend.

Before being cut down.

           

Cut & Stacked-A fire burns the twigs.

Burning branches put to good use.

We’ve already burned some of the ash this summer, to cook brats and roast marshmallows out in our fire-pit.  We’ve burned the ash wood during family fires and fires with friends.  Today is the first time I’ve burned its wood in our fireplace.  The wood from this tree will last throughout the winter.  Burning in our fireplace will be its final tribute, to a worthy life cut tragically short from an unwelcome insect wrecking havoc at a spooky rate across North America.  It is, however, literally going down in a blaze of glory.

            After a day of chores that allowed me to complete tasks, tonight is an opportunity to sit, relax and reflect.  Tonight our old green ash tree is providing me with warmth while I write.  It’s time to add another log onto the dying embers to keep the fire alive.

See you along The Way…

“I have been told some people have fireplaces but never start fires in them because they might leave a residue of soot on the firebricks or otherwise smudge the cleanliness of a room.  Each to his own, but for me, a fireplace without a fire is like a house without people.  Just as it takes warm beating hearts to make a house a home, so it takes flames to make a fireplace.”

-Mel Ellis (Notes from Little Lakes)

Tired dogs soaking up the heat.

C.F.A.

“When in doubt, head for water.”  -  John Jerome (Blue Rooms)

            A few Monday’s ago we had the day off from school; Columbus Day.  I’ll admit, it’s a nice three day weekend on the eve of autumn, but I truly wish it was to honor someone else.  Leif Erikson came to the “New Land” of North America as a Viking, before Christopher Columbus, to the Newfoundland area in what is now Canada.  That was around the year 1000 AD.  It was 500 years later that the Italian Columbus, sponsored by Spain, arrived in what is now known as the Caribbean Islands.  Perhaps it’s because Columbus had ulterior motives.  Perhaps it’s because he established slavery on his second journey, to force the natives to dig for the gold he hoped for.  Regardless, it makes me a bit uncomfortable celebrating someone who represents such things.  It just seems weird that we ignore the tens of millions of Native People that lived here, prior to Europe’s push for colonization, to celebrate this guy.  I’m not taking away from his adventuresome spirit.  Heading off into what seemed like an endless sea had to be a bit spooky.  It proves, I suppose, that he was brave, if not power hungry, and allows you to at least find something positive in his persona.  It doesn’t, however, mean that we should have a day off from school to honor him.  While it is refreshing to have the extra day, I’m with the growing number of communities who are now using the day to celebrate Indigenous Peoples Day.  I’d feel a lot more comfortable heralding the lives and efforts of the many tribes nationwide who have fought the struggle to survive; many against what you can only describe as insurmountable odds.  While speaking with an Ojibwe educator when I was working on my master’s degree, he noted that within schools, we should first talk about how First Nation people live and work in today’s world before we teach how they lived in the past.  It gives students a correct, modern perspective, instead of thinking they continue to all live in wigwams or teepees and hunt bison for food with a bow.  It would allow classes to discuss the advancements and struggles of various native tribes and avoid stating, without refute, that Columbus was First to the Americas (CFA).

Homework Page for the Week at School

            Still, I made use of the day off by rallying and gathering some of the members of the “Gulo Adventure Clan”; men tied either past or present to our school, to head out for a morning adventure on the Sugar River.  We met early in the morning, threw our supplies and gear into two vehicles, the kayaks/canoe on to a trailer, and then headed out.  By 9:00 we had dropped off our equipment and transferred our vehicles for take-out before getting on the water.  It was cool, overcast, and a little breezy.  After paddling for a half hour or so, it sprinkled for a few moments.  From that point on it slowly cleared bit by bit as the day progressed.  With that, the temperature rose and the winds increased.  It was the CFA we had anticipated (Clear Forecast Arrival).

            After an hour, we pulled up onto a sandbar.  While supplies were unloaded, and small twigs were gathered as fire tinder, we broke out sling shots.  The targets were various logs, sticks, and stumps.  We used smooth, round stones I had collected in a small tub.  There is something primordial about pulling back on a slingshot and notching your fingers against your cheek while taking aim through the forks.  After a release, especially when you’ve hit the intended target, it’s hard not to smile a boyish grin.  I grew up with a pocket full of rocks and a “Wrist-Rocket” slingshot, so I knew what the others were feeling.  In that brief moment of time they were all CFA’s (Country-Boys flinging ammunition) like David slaying Goliath.

            While the others were busy defending the universe, I busted out the flint and steel and got a fire going.  Soon after, we had potatoes and sausage cooking, and then eventually added the eggs and cheese.  I love cooking over an open fire, especially for others.  It’s a combination of the preparation, making the fire, smelling the smoke and food, and then listening to the activity surrounding it all. 

Eating the food afterwards is the fringe benefit.  We cleaned up, repacked our supplies, and loaded our tub into the bottom of the canoe.  We had work to do in the form of paddling, and now we had the nourishment to do it.  We had taken the time to Cook to Form an Alliance (CFA).

            We continued down river and enjoyed a great morning of talking and soaking up the river’s beauty.  Rivers, like this, have been used as a way to travel within this country for a long, long time.  By the time we paddled around the last few bends, we found ourselves battling small white-caps pushing upriver, against the current, by the wind.  It was windy now but at least it was warm.  

Deep down you felt the need to enjoy the moment, as such days are dwindling while winter begins to loom.  We made good time by using the CFA to our advantage (Currents For Advancement).  The moving water of a river can do that.  We landed at our destination by 1:00; a perfect amount of time that still allowed us to do other things that afternoon.

            All of us in the group are tied to our local schools in some way.  We are experiencing the educational winds of change, and the growing pains that come with it.  While rocking it out teaching, we are also evaluating our curriculum, tying this to state/national standards, developing Common Formative Assessments (CFA’s) while integrating this into our teacher evaluations.  I’m still learning what that means.  I’m still wrestling with what I have to do, get to do, need to do and want to do with all of the new information that comes while teaching every day.  In the meantime, and in order to put one foot in front of the other, I seem to require periodic chunks of time where I can escape.  I use these times to recharge, take a deep breath, put things into perspective, grapple with them, prioritize, sometimes compartmentalize them, and then forge ahead in one way or another.  In the meantime, I thank my God that I can gather with friends, paddle a kayak or canoe, and Cruise For Adventure (CFA) on a liquid trail.

            See you along The Way...

Final Score:16 to 4-A Win Win Situation

     Coming off a week where my fifth grade team of teachers prepared for and held our annual "Creek Walk Day," I hadn't slept much.  The carrot in front of me, however, was an end of the season, trout fishing run to one of my favorite creeks north of here on the following day.  Not that I needed much of a carrot, since I really do love our day teaching outside, down along the creek, near our school.  Looking back, teaching by the creek was probably more like a booster rocket propelling me upwards and outwards to a space of water that few have a desire to tread.  I awoke at 5:00 and was on the road by 5:20.  Although stretches were thick with fog, I reached my destination by 6:20.  I smiled to myself at the humor behind that.  One hour.  As a math and science guy, I love the intricacies of numbers.

     I got my stuff ready, put my waders on, and started to hike in.  It was still fairly dark and the morning was supposed to start with cloud cover, but there was enough to see without the use of my headlamp.  Along the way I passed a marshy area surrounded by cattails.  It was alive with the sounds of a familiar friend of small creeks I've fished before.  The brilliantly marked wood duck, in the form of a large flock, was getting edgy and preparing to alight for the day's journey south to some unknown destination.  I guessed at over a hundred of them.  

I had heard them when I had first gotten out of my Jeep and now I was right beside the shallow pond; unbeknownst to them.  I decided to video tape them, to capture some of what I was witnessing.  I'm not going to lie.  It turned out pretty cool.  After several squadrons took off, I continued down the lane, through the field, prepped my pole, and entered the water. 

I immediately realized that I had incorrectly guessed where some of the holes were in my waders the night before; when I had applied some neoprene patch.  I could feel a cold trickle in my left boot.  

     No matter, I made my way around a few bends and finally caught a 9 and a half inch brown trout.  I quickly unhooked it and released it.  After that, it was "slim pickin's" for quite a while, as they say, until I had fished for well over an hour.  Slowly, the tide turned then and I started catching fish.  At the same time, the sun began to appear intermittently between the clouds.  Over a decent stretch I caught sixteen total brook trout.  I loved looking at their beautiful colors and markings.  I had thought of keeping a few if I had caught any around ten inches but all of them were in the eight to nine inch range.  I released them all back into the creek from whence they came.  I finally did stop long enough to take a picture of one of them.

 In one hole alone I caught about five or six brook trout.  It was really fun.  There is nothing quite like a little action from a native fish to keep you going.

     Soon after that, a brown trout just shy of fifteen inches, shot out from under the bank at my spinner.  I was suddenly busy with my ultra light pole bent over, as I stood in a knee deep bend of the creek.  I decided to keep this one fish and save it for a meal back home later this fall.  It's always entertaining to have a big brown explode out from under a bank when you least expect it; especially in the bright light. 

Typically they hang tight until the darkness between dusk and dawn, but occasionally they surprise you, and after catching the lovely little brookies, it can be downright shocking to see a torpedo of yellowish-brown come shooting out at your lure.  Humorously I caught two more browns after that on the next couple of bends.  Both were small in size and released.  The first of those two was so small, in fact, that I actually measured it.  It was four inches long.  The humor was that it hit a number two Mepps.  The lure was almost as long as it was.  It's a testament to the feistiness of these fish.

     Finally I stopped and decided it had been enough.  It was close to noon, so I sat on the bank and had my lunch of a peanut butter and strawberry jam sandwich, on rye bread, with a side of raisins and corn chips.  I washed it down with some water and started hiking out.

     I eventually hit the remnant of a path, not much bigger than an old deer trail.  It ran through a small grove of poplar trees.  As I said in the beginning, I had been tired coming into today, and with the drive home coming up, I knew what would happen.  I'd get sleepy and struggle to keep my eyes open on hilly, curvy, country roads.  Today, luckily enough, I had thrown in my net-like hammock.  

I decided to string it up and watch the clouds go by while listening to the sand hill cranes in the field off in the distance and a flock of blue jays in the trees nearby.  I took several pictures to try to capture the moment, and then a video of the wind in the poplar leaves above me, before nodding off.  

I only slept about fifteen minutes but it was just enough time to take the edge off and allow the water to drain down the leg of my waders and soak into my shorts.

     As I hiked the last of the way out to my Jeep, I took a picture of the autumn air hanging over the prairie, and a video to capture the sound of the crickets in the mid-day heat.  What a great way to wrap up the final days of Wisconsin's Trout Season.

See you along The Way...

End of Summer Outings

    

Lake of the Clouds in the Porcupine Mountains, Michigan - 2006

Jodi - 2004

     When our kids were little and we took them on our family camping trip, the week or so before school started, we experienced some great adventures together.  They were the kind of adventures that produced fond memories and monumental photo albums.  Ask me about them sometime.  I can easily sit down and go through the pictures with you; with the same amount of enthusiasm that my sisters and I expressed on evenings when Mom and Dad pulled out, and set up, either our slide projector or 8 mm reel to reel movie projector. Contrary to the stereotyped yawns of boredom often portrayed for such an endeavor, we loved it!  It was an evening of laughter and emotions as memories of past feats were conjured up.  Intermissions were complete with images depicted on the white screen by our hands and fingers in front of the lamp bulb  

Todd - 2004

     While on those family camping adventures, Cindy and I quite often did something individually with each of the kids as well.  If I took Todd one afternoon to do something, she would do something with Jodi and then the following day we would "switch it up".  I've taken them kayaking, fishing, rock stacking in a creek (to create pools) and exploring on islands; just to name a few of the excursions. 

     For the last few years, due to family schedules, I've taken the kids on their own overnight camp-out.  The premise is still the same as Cindy does something back home with one of our kids while I've got the other kid out in the woods.  Typically I try to center our camping around something each of my children enjoys.  With Jodi I usually go somewhere where we can swim.  This may or may not happen as much as we would like depending on the weather.  In addition, we'll catch up on sleep (hard to beat fresh air through a tent screen) and read and/or journal.  With Todd we usually go somewhere where we can play disc golf in route to a campground.  Each of the kids, because of their love for cross country, likes to run the trails of the park we are at.  It's a change from the monotony of running the same roads or routes back home.  Both Todd and Jodi also enjoy the campfire as a centerpiece for cooking and talking.  So even on an overnight trip, where we're hardly gone for 24 hours, we are immersed into a complete, camping experience.

     This summer I took the kids up to Blue Mound State Park in Wisconsin.  As a family we had camped there back in 2008.  It's also been a destination for past individual father-kid outings.  I brought Jodi on a Friday through Saturday trip and Todd on the following day, Sunday through Monday.  It was none too soon as Jodi was starting high school practice for fall sports that week and by the following weekend we were taking Todd to college.

     Both trips were unique and yet both were the same in that I got to spend time with them.  We stopped by our local Aldi's grocery store, shared a packet of beef jerky on the way up while riding in the old Jeep, set up camp, cooked brats and beans for dinner, read/journaled around the campfire, got a good night's sleep, had breakfast, relaxed and then packed up.  

Jodi and I on the East Tower at Blue Mound

     With Jodi we went to the redesigned pool (since this area has no natural lakes, it's the only State Park in Wisconsin with a pool).  It was fun (not deep enough to dive in like the old one) but it was also a bit chilly.  We visited the lookout towers after dinner and then took an evening drive through the hills and hollows; seeing several deer and raccoons while enjoying the beautiful sunset.  

Sunset over the Mound

In the morning we got up early to watch the sunrise; a surprising and ironic twist for a girl who likes her sleep.  She was able to return to her sleeping bag for a few hours afterwards while I journaled and read.  Before our breakfast of pancakes we also jumped on the trails around the base of the mound and ran

Sunrise from the Mound

between four and four and a half miles.  Our trip concluded with a bang when I was pulled over for speeding south of Mount Horeb.  I knew the area had a speed zone where I had to slow down, and was in the process of doing so, but not soon enough as she blinked her headlights at me and then quickly did a U-turn with all of the lights flashing.  I apparently needed to start slowing down at the soccer fields outside of the little town, not at the high school.

 Fortunately the officer actually wanted to hear my explanation and story of what we were doing.  Perhaps it was Jodi sitting cross-legged in the front seat reading, or the smell of wood smoke coming from the camping supplies piled in the back of our Jeep, but she let us go with a warning.  I couldn't believe it and had a hard time not shouting out with joy.  It was a warning I heeded, however, as the penalty would have been severe, and so I stored that in my memory bank for the next time I traveled through so that I could remember to slow down in time.

Todd and I with a sweat soaked trail map after ten miles

     After setting up camp with Todd a day later, we prepared for our long run.  Since early that morning we had been drinking water and preparing mentally for the longest

run we had had all summer.  Using the park's trail map we elected to run the outside edges, which meant we would be following the mountain bike paths.  The hills were so steep in parts that they were designed as switchbacks just to get up them.  At times I'm sure that our pace while running uphill was slower than what we could walk on a level surface.  Yet, it was fast enough that we actually caught mountain bikers who were attempting to pedal the incline...not once, but with two different groups.  It was a blast running and jumping over rocks, roots and ruts.  By the time we had finished running for an hour and twenty minutes (about 10 miles), I had

slipped on some gravel once, and tripped once, sprawling out onto the trail but with no adverse effects.  We were done by that time, mentally and physically.  We vowed to return next summer, however, and complete the entire system; but also decided it would be important to begin in the morning when we would have more daylight and energy to begin with.  We cleaned up, ate dinner, and sat around the fire reading by the combined light of the flames and Coleman lantern to the company of a family of raccoons.  

In the morning, after a breakfast of eggs and potatoes, we packed and headed south to Monroe and Twining Park where we played 18 holes of disc golf.  Todd loves this sport and can explain all of the discs, throws and technicalities.  I used two discs throughout the course and was happy if I could get to the basket in 4 throws.  Todd and his friends always play every hole of a course as a par 3 regardless of what it says it is.  According to our abilities we both played the front 9 holes well, but fatigue from our run the night before crept in, and we struggled down the back 9.  It was still a lot of fun though.  I've never actually golfed with clubs and a ball, and don't really plan to, but I'm guessing the feelings are similar.  You have good drives and putts as well as some near misses, or major screw ups.  Still, it's time in a great environ.

     I could camp out almost any night, anywhere, at any time (with the right equipment).  I love it.  Taking that love and sharing it with my kids on a "Dad-Outing"; and then combining that experience with activities they really enjoy, makes for good times and memories.  It was a good way to finish up Summer Break with Todd and Jodi.

     See you along The Way...

Bogged Down

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

The Seven Cousins - 1982

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

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

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

The Twins & I - Pushing Water

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

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

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

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

Sean, Brad & I - Resting in the River

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

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