I’m
50 and a ½ today. I wanted this to be my
50th blog entry on my official half birthday in my 50th
year, but then I went and had a couple of adventures two weeks ago, and so that
idea went out the window. I simply had
to write about those outings, if only for their uniqueness. I started this blog two years ago today (See past blog “Half Way There”). I’m still trying to
figure out if it really is very “funny” how time flies. When I think back to my 50th
birthday last summer, I do feel a smile spread across my face. Not because of anything funny, but rather
something very memorable. I had just
come off from running an ultra marathon that spring; 50 miles for 50
years. That was definitely memorable,
but my birthday was in a class by itself.
My
birthday was on a Sunday this past July 24th, ironically on “Cousins
Day.” I’m not sure what that means, but
I was with three of my cousins on that day while on our annual camping and
fishing trip in the North Country of Michigan.
Having already been in the woods for two nights, we awoke early with the
sun. I fixed everyone my classic
breakfast of potatoes, eggs, and sausage.
Afterwards, I read a few verses from the Bible that seemed to fit where
we were at in our spirit and environment.
It’s kind of a tradition on the Sunday morning before our day’s outing. It seems to provide insight before we hit the
river to fish. By then I could hardly
contain myself, as I had been hiding a gift for each of them. Over the years, we’ve caught some great trout
of great size. Those memories run deep for each of us, as we had some lean years back when we first started coming on
this trip, when we basically caught nothing.
On this day, my birthday, I presented each of them with a framed picture
of themselves with one of those trout; Brian with a rainbow, Brad with a brown,
and Sean with a brook trout. This meant a lot to me, as I had been fortunate enough to have been with each
of them personally when they caught the trout pictured; great stories and great
memories. They returned the favor, and
gave me a hammock that Brad had made for me, and a shirt that Sean had designed and had made for each of us.
Those were heartfelt gifts. I wear the T-shirt all of the time, and I’m looking forward to this summer when I
can fish, set up that hammock to take a snooze in the woods, and then fish some more.
Brad, Brian, and Sean - Pictures of Memories
The setting moon opposite of the rising sun
By
the time we were finished giving gifts, the sun was rising, we were getting
antsy, and someone was probably mumbling something about whether we were going
to sit around all morning or get our waders on and head out. Actually, when it comes to fishing in the
morning, the someone who is usually mumbling is probably me, but others have
been known to utter such things depending on who we’re waiting for that has
wandered off somewhere, or who’s still down in the outhouse.
After a long hike in, we're ready to rock it out on the water
And
so we took off hiking the trail, several miles downriver. The skies promised to be overcast as the
morning progressed, which usually means you can sneak through the water without
your shadows giving you away. We fished
for hours. It was a bit slow going, but
we each caught little ones at various points.
Mine was a rainbow fingerling; small, but a trout nonetheless with the
telltale, pink stripe and jet black dots.
That was it for me that morning.
Soon after, I broke the end of my pole, two tippets back. I couldn’t believe it, but I tried to make
the most of the situation, despite the fact that the flexible end of my ultra
light pole was busted off. I fished
on. Near some deep water, Brad caught a couple
of nice brookies and had a big brown trout chase his lure several different
times, but to no avail.
Sean had caught
a big one in the bend just around the corner from that deep water the year
before, so we had hoped for a repeat performance. Regardless, Brad really appreciated all of
the advice that we heaped upon him; things that he should have done if he
wanted to actually hook and land that trout.
You could tell he was contemplating our loving advice, and hoping to catch
it next year. In the meantime, we only
slept with one eye open the rest of our time at camp. A few hundred
yards up from there, we reached a classic run in the river with beautiful
grassy banks that big fish typically come charging out from. Instead, the banks provided excellent seats
for us to jump up onto with our legs dangling in the water. We relaxed, talked, and ate our apples, and
sandwiches, while drinking water from the spring back at camp. Soon after, we reached a bend with a really deep
hole where I had caught a really nice brown trout a few years back. We fished it, but got nothing. Brian and I decided to try hugging close to
the bank, and climb up and over a log jam. It was risky, but fishable water was
on the other side. We were mere
millimeters from the tops of our waders, while walking on the tips of our big
toes. Forgoing the ballet of synchronized
swimmers, Brad and Sean got out and walked the bank, while looking for a place
to get back into the river. Brian and I
safely made it over the obstacle, while eyeing the inside bend, opposite of
where the bank walkers were. Flipping my
copper colored #3 Mepps from the less than flexible, broken tipped pole, I made
the cast. No sooner did my lure hit the
surface of the river when a huge wake, pushing lots of water, surged out from
under the overhanging grass. Fish
on! It was a monster brown trout, as the
video from Sean can attest to. To believe it you’ll
have to watch the video from where it starts, following a jump and several runs. (Sorry for the continuous dialogue...I need to learn to keep my mouth shut when I'm in those situations and on video...nervous chatter I guess...part of the excitement).
Once brought into my new landing net,
I had to work to get the barb out of the brown trout’s hooked jaw; normally
something I’m quick with. I worked for
five to eight minutes to try to revive the fish in the water. His fins were moving and he was trying to
gulp oxygen, but he wouldn’t push off on his own. It made me sick, but I didn’t want to let him
go and watch him go belly up in the current only to become otter food under a
bank downstream. My wish, as it is with
all big trout, was to release him as cleanly as I had on my trout two nights
prior. (See past blog: “A Refreshing Beginning”) He just wouldn’t stay
upright though, and scoot out from my hands.
Because of that response I decided to keep him, but I’ll admit it hurt
to justify it. While I have kept some fairly
big trout when I first started fishing, and while I do occasionally keep medium
sized fish to eat, I like to know that the big trout that I’ve caught are still
swimming somewhere in a favorite river. I
did smile for some pictures, however, as I was still pumped from having caught
my biggest trout ever; and that on my birthday.
Twenty Three Inch Brown Trout
After
the rush from that experience we were all pretty excited; part of the reason
that we will fish all together from time to time. It’s fun to watch when one of us can catch
one of those big ones. We fished to the
next bend, only to allow Brian the chance to throw a lure though a run where he
had caught an equally big rainbow a few years prior. Hiking back to camp became our priority then,
as storm clouds loomed in the west. We
arrived in time to strip off our gear, change, pack the trout in ice, and head
out for a few hours towards civilization; an easy drive beyond our camp. The Straights area was our destination; near
Cheboygan. Brad and Brian were scheduled
to pick up some fish mounts there. They
were mounts of some trout they had caught a few years prior. They’ve caught other big trout since then,
and while they always release those, these that were mounted were their first. They were special. Jeff Migda had performed the artwork and
taxonomy of their trout. We contacted
him as we drove, catching him in his boat as he was fishing. He said he wasn’t catching anything anyways,
the storm was approaching, and that he would meet us at his shop. We told him we had brought my recently caught
brown trout for his new project. When we
arrived, we talked, caught up, marveled at the mounts, and showed him the
brown. It’s one I’ll look forward to
picking up next summer after he’s done working on it.
The
rain had slowed by then and we were powerfully hungry as night time was setting
in. We ate at Mulligan’s in town. Their Mexican food really hit the spot, and
it beat trying to fix a meal in the dark and rain. For my birthday, we also went to The Big
Dipper for some ice cream. The cousins
extended their generosity and covered the cost between them.
Typically
once we’re in the woods, we hate coming out.
After a long, memorable day, however, a day that I turned 50, we made
the most of that afternoon. On a day
that was dubbed “Cousin’s Day” by somebody, somewhere, we spent most of the day
in the woods and in the river, and a little while in town. We were looking forward to heading back to
camp though. The following day was
another day of fishing on a different river.
Home is where the heart is.
This is an entry from Monday, January 16th; a day off of
school in honor of Martin Luther King Jr.’s birthday.
-----
The
pitter-patter of rain on the tarp reminds me of dreary days, when my sisters
and I would get out of the house and go play in the barn. The rain on that metal roof of the barn was
loud; sounding like a torrential downpour even when it wasn’t. Today is nasty; cold, wet, cloudy, and full
of perpetual rain. I am hiking out in it
anyways; probably to say I did, and probably because I wanted to see if I could
set up a little “Day Camp” to match the picture I had set in my mind’s eye.
Luckily
I had stacked some dry wood in the garage yesterday in case I went out today; a
pile of little sticks from our front yard included as kindling. I placed all of this into an old plastic dog
food bag, lashed it to an old sled (after drilling holes in its sides for the
rope that held the bag down), and hiked back into this bottom-land, old growth
forest. I cut a ridge pole for a tarp
that I brought, and four skinny sticks that I am using to hold up its corners. It’s not a perfect set up, but it’s on relatively
high ground and with the resources I have it’s the best that I can do. I’ll learn what works, and what needs to be
tweaked so I can improve upon it the next time that I hike and cookout in
inclement weather.
My
dog Kora is wet and shivering now, and puddles are forming in the low spots on
the frozen ground. Luckily the wood that
I brought is dry, because it’s hard to keep the fire going. In fact, I have to continue blowing on the
embers to keep it cooking my potatoes and eggs.
I did manage to get the fire going with one small piece of char cloth
and a little nest of material from a splayed section of twine, since no dried
grasses were available for the spark from my flint and steel. It was nothing less than a miracle.
Laying
out a flannel lined ground cloth under the tarp we had as a roof, allowed Kora
to curl up on it and begin warming up. I
gave her some remnants of my meal after I had eaten what I wanted. I am sitting next to Kora now as I watch the
fire (after laying an extra jacket over the top of her), and then I pull out my journal to write for a while. Due to the fact that the air is chilled, it’s
hard to sit for long and write, think, or meditate without getting up to move
around, readjust while sitting on the ground, or tend to the fire. Water from the rain and melting snow is also
soaking up through the ground cloth that Kora and I are sharing, and I am starting
to get wet.
Since
I first parked the Jeep and started this adventure, it’s been over four hours. It’s time now to break down the camp, repack
everything onto my sled, and begin the hike back. Since I’ve burned all of the wood I brought in,
this time I’ll fill the large plastic bag with both my back and hip packs so I
don’t have to carry them out. I will pull them instead. It will give
me a bit of a break. Although far from
pleasant for most people, it’s been perfect; having the droning of the rain in
the woods to myself.
“…once you take the time to look, and realize that there is a world –
animal, vegetable, and mineral – in nearly every footprint, you begin to step
more carefully. It is the moments you
spend looking, watching, and wondering about what you are seeing that bring you
nearer nature.”
Jim Arnosky, Nearer
Nature – 1996.
Kora and I are out
today; the first solo outing of the season.
Through a tangle of prickly ash in a nearby river bottom, I made my way
southerly from where I had parked. I
hadn’t gone far when I happenchanced upon a blood trail on a weaving deer path. I can only guess upon the cause, whether from
a hunter on nearby private land, or a hit from a car on the nearby road. I doubt that it came from falling through the
sharp ice, as I found it in patterned splatterings, an obvious result of the
racing pulse of a deer with wounded lungs.
I hoped it wasn’t from a poacher.
The wound had been true and most likely deadly, for the loss of blood
was in great quantities. Observations
like these are what help me find stories in the out-of-doors that most people
walk by without even noticing.
Unfortunately the mystery
will stay in the woods, as the blood trail crossed a channel covered with thin,
black ice with pockets of open water. A
mere 30 feet away I could see blotches of red on the ice of the opposite bank,
but I dared not try to cross over to it.
I did attempt to work my way around the semi frozen oxbow, but it was
not meant to be. I have been hampered
before from crossing into this area due to open water during warmer times of
the year, but I was hoping to get over to it today. Perhaps if we get a long period of cold weather
I’ll be able to continue searching a few weeks from now on safer ice. It’s been cold for a couple of days but we
had rain and warmer weather before that, and more is on the way. Due to this fact, the blood trail must have
been within the last week or so.
And so I am sitting
with the sun in my face writing in my journal with my leather mittens off. My hands are getting cold, but it’s not
terrible. Kora circles by now and then
as she sniffs, watches for movement, listens to birds, and eats dried
grass. She was on alert as a bald eagle
called, landed in a tree 200 feet away, and then flew off. Luckily she didn’t see the cotton-tailed
rabbit race out from a thicket on our way in.
That would have been tempting to chase.
Although an opportunity like that would have been a great test as to
whether Kora would listen to me as I called her off; a difficult decision over
the hot scent of a wild animal. I’ve
been able to do just that numerous times with my other dog Kati, but Kora and I
have yet to be in a predicament outside of our backyard. Spending time together like this helps
tremendously, however, and she is both intelligent and used to being free and
having to listen to my commands.
Kora checks in while I am journaling
The sun is setting
further in the west as the afternoon wanes.
The eagle called again, and I realize now that it’s still perched in the
original tree. It was a second eagle
that flew by earlier that had caused it to call out. It was an approaching eagle again now that
caused it to call out again, only to reveal its favored roosting place. It is time to cook a very late lunch and then
head back.
A Sycamore on the Oxbow
Kora and I out on the ice of the oxbow
Post-Script: After eating my meal and hiking out, I came
upon the same aforementioned blood trail in a different spot, back near the
area where I had first entered the woods a few hours earlier. Upon closer scrutiny I realized I had been
following the trail in the wrong direction before; in my zest to make my way
into that area of the forest I had failed to notice the details. Now I saw the spray from the droplets
splashing forward, as well as how it smeared on only certain sides of the
grasses, sticks, and trees.
Since it had come from deep in the woods, the
wound must have come from a hunter and not a car. I followed the blood for another quarter mile. When I would
lose the signs, I would backtrack to where I had last seen the trail and scout
out in an array until I found signs of it again. Although perhaps morbid in some sense, I
relished the chance to try to solve the mystery, and kept hoping I would come
upon the fallen deer at some point to give me the proof that I needed. Death had been inevitable I was sure. I couldn’t believe it could go so far, losing
so much blood. It was impressive, and I
could only follow this story into the woods with deep, deep respect. The deer’s drive to live, and keep pushing
forth with an instinctual fortitude was almost beyond imagination. All told, I believe it had traveled well over
a half mile, depending on where it had first been shot. I wanted to see, and touch something with
that much determination and perseverance.
I never did see any other human tracks solidified in the occasional patches
of snow and ice. I wondered whether the
deer had ever been found by its hunter.
I’ll admit that I secretly hoped that it had eventually swerved off the
obscure trail, died on its own time, and that I would find it. Its carcass would still be put to good use as
it became nutrients for the eagles, coyotes, and other scavengers. Unfortunately I soon began to run out of daylight,
and also came to a property line for private land, and so I had to stop. It is true I was slightly disappointed having
to pull myself off of the trail, but I enjoyed playing the role of the tracker;
reading the story, piecing together the clues, and walking in the footsteps of
so great a competitor.
See
you along The Way…
“Bright, unsad failures they. He
seemed indeed to come back empty handed, but he really came home laden with the
best spoils of the chase, and he knew it more and more, as time went on, till
every day, at last, on the clear unending trail, was a glad triumphant march.”
Ernest Seton-Thompson, The
Trail of the Sandhill Stag-1899
Three
weeks have gone by since a decent snowstorm hit us the weekend before Christmas
Break. My son was home from college by
then, but we had to finish out three more days of school before we could dive
into family time and relax.
Unfortunately that only left us a couple of days to enjoy the snow
before some warmer weather and rain melted much of it. Still, we enjoyed our time together, and our
adventures were captured in pictures and videos that I’ll share here. I hope you had a Merry Christmas and have a
Happy New Year.
12-17-16 Jodi, Kora & I after a snowy hike
Sunset on the Last Day of School for 2016
12--21-16 Game Night
12-22-16 Family at Millennium Park in Chicago
Family in the Bean
The Bean
Family at the Chicago River
Giordanos Pizza on Chicago's Rush Street
Cindy and Jodi on Christmas Day
Christmas at Cindy's Parent's House
Celebrating Christmas at Cindy's Parent's House
Christmas with the entire "Rhines Clan"
The Cousins
The Rhines Family Dogs
In the Bright Sun after Star Wars with Dad
Mom Preparing the Cornbread
Fish dinner at Mom & Dad's
1-2-17 Exploring for a new lake with my friend Justin
Scouting from a tree
We found the lake!
Cooking out after the hike
1-7-17 Sunset while hiking three weeks after the snowfall
“…The spartan, cramped, and unstintingly
functional Jeep became the ubiquitous World War II four-wheeled personification
of Yankee ingenuity and cocky, can-do determination.” – Doug Smith Smithsonian
A Great Video And Song.
--------------------
As
the story goes, what began in 1941 as a Government Vehicle later morphed its
name into the General Purpose Vehicle, before finally changing into the abbreviation
of G.P. (Pronounced “Jeep” for short).
The story is more complicated than that as the word jeep after The Great
War (WWI), also referred to any new vehicle or a new recruit. That’s the gist of it, however, and somewhere
in there is the truth. Regardless, the
Jeep has been serving ever since; for a total of 75 years now.
I
got my Jeep at the end of the summer in 2001.
It was used and six years old (a 1995 Grand Cherokee-Laredo). My wife and I told the kindly dealer (Ron
Corey of Corey’s Motorworks & Sport Utility) we could only pay the amount
we offered; no more. Between the money we
could put down, and what we could afford as a monthly payment for the loan, we
were locked into that amount and wouldn’t budge. As our two little kids climbed around the
small office area, the dealer’s son finally said, “Dad, just let them have the
Jeep.” That broke the negotiating, and
gratefully we got a second vehicle. We
were set to pay $149.58 for the next four years until the fall of 2005.
Not
too long after that, I was driving to work and giving a teaching colleague
(Keli) a ride. I was returning the favor
after she had been helping us out. For
the last couple of months, she had been giving me rides to school while we had been down
a vehicle. While traveling through Loves
Park, I got hit by another car. He had
come off from a side street as we drove north to school. For some reason he didn’t see us, and pulled
out right in front of us. Luckily nobody
was seriously hurt, and the other driver felt terrible and wanted to make it
right. People stopped by, the police
arrived, and our principal came down and gave us a ride back home. After cleaning up from the shattered glass,
and contacting my insurance company, Keli picked me up (in her car again) and
we made it back up to school to finish the day out teaching.
While
I waited the next few weeks for the passenger-side of the Jeep to be fixed, the
attack happened on the World Trade Towers in New York City (9-11). Although a bit difficult due to the timing, I
was able to get a small rental car to get me through, and even drove it to
Michigan to help my parents pack up for their move down to southern Wisconsin.
Since
that initial year, the green Jeep Grand Cherokee and I have been through a lot
of adventures together; sometimes solo, sometimes with family, and sometimes
with friends. It’s served me well to get
from Point A to Point B; whether with the seats up taking people with me, or with
the seats down masquerading as a truck.
I do have routine maintenance done on the Jeep, even if months go by
between washings. Omark’s Auto Service
down on Broadway in Rockford has taken care of it since the beginning. Although we no longer live in Rockford, I
still bring it down every 3 or 4,000 miles for grease, oil, and filter changes,
among the other things that occasionally need to be replaced on an older
vehicle. I’d say the guys there in the
shop know it as well as anybody, and treat it as an old friend. The only reason I probably don’t wash it as
often as I should is simply because I hate to wash off the dust and dirt from
my annual trips to camp in the backwoods of Northern Michigan. As the dates for the next trip approach,
however, I break down and have it beautified with a wash and wax. It’s the least I can do.
When
I think of my Jeep’s personality as some people are apt to do, I don’t really
think of it as a “he” or “she,” it’s simply the Green Jeep (especially since we
purchased a silver colored one in 2015 as our family vehicle). The Green Jeep’s personality is based more on
its attributes and adventures. As I
explored the area’s preserves and wildlife areas, or sought out sacred trout
waters, the ole Jeep was my means of transportation.
I’ve hauled firewood, rocks, camping
gear, kayaks and canoes. I’ve slept in
it, and I’ve blasted through snow drifts while driving in 4-wheel drive (with
my kids cheering in the back seat). Although it’s
far from perfect, the Jeep does the job.
Those imperfections only add to its character. Character traits such as:
·* A missing passenger side mirror that
I took off on a mailbox while waving to a neighbor. That was a funny story, and both scared and embarrassed
my daughter who was “riding shot-gun” at the time.
·* A speedometer that only works intermittently.
·* An odometer that’s only worked
occasionally for the last five years or so.
The Jeep is roughly at 200,000 some miles, give or take a few thousand.
·* A radio that hasn’t worked since I
don’t know when. It really isn’t an
issue other than when I’m driving and I’m tired. I guess that’s the only time noise would be
nice. My friend Joe once asked me about
something he’d heard on a sports talk radio station, and then remembered my
Jeep doesn’t have one that works; end of discussion. That was funny too.
·* A heater that only blows air off the
dashboard and at your feet.
·*The passenger side sun visor that is
tied into place so it doesn’t flop down.
·* The air conditioning which is non-existent,
and has been for a long, long time. On
hot days you bring along extra water, take your shirt off, and roll the windows
down.
·* In 2014 when I got tired of the
material slowly peeling off the interior ceiling of the Jeep, so I ripped it
all out. That was right before I took it
camping with my cousins. My cousin Sean
(upon hearing what I did) said, “Another stripe on the tiger.” Indeed, as these are the traits that give the
Jeep nostalgia and character.
·* The windshield that is newer, after I
tried putting the wrong kayak inside of the Jeep (instead of up on top) and
spider-webbed it. It was apparent
redemption after doing almost the same thing to my friend Louie a few years
before that.
·* The hatch. Anyone who has ridden with me knows about the
back hatch. When open, it’s propped up
with an old broom stick cut to the right size.
Failure to remember that the hydraulic lift supports don’t work, or accidentally knocking the stick out, transforms the hatch into a guillotine type apparatus
you won’t soon forget.
·* Tires, shocks, and major parts that have
been fixed, changed, or replaced as needed.
·* When my son and I hauled its last
load using the trailer hitch. The large trailer
we were pulling was loaded down with a massive amount of rock, dirt, and wood
chips that we were getting rid of. It
was touch and go when we hit the road’s expansion joints going up and over the
nearby highway, but we made it. Since
very little of the hitch’s bracing remained, due to rust, Omark’s Auto Service
suggested that I don’t ever do that again.
Literally, those are words to live by.
·* I must travel long distances with
jumper cables and a small tool box, especially after being stranded with a dead
battery while trout fishing with my Dad (we flagged a lady down who actually
stopped to help us). Another time I had
to stop at a farm house to ask for an old coat hanger. After driving into a roadside ditch I was
able to crawl underneath the Jeep to wire the exhaust system up enough to drive
back home.
These
idiosyncrasies aren’t meant to complain about my Jeep any more than they aren’t
meant to brag about my Jeep. They simply
make my Jeep what it is, and when I mention them, I do so with mild
fondness. When I’m driving, and get stuck
in traffic, or I see someone driving a shiny SUV that has never seen a dirt
road (let alone a speck of dust), I mutter to myself, “Drive it like you mean
it.” In a Jeep like mine, that’s been
with you through the tests of time, it’s the least you can do. The history of this brand of vehicle is
pretty impressive when you look back over the 75 years since it first came off
the assembly line heading into WWII. I
know it’s been pretty impressive to me when I see how our green Jeep Grand
Cherokee has been there through the years for our family and me.
See
you along The Way…
Country Roads Take Me Home
Me and my cousin's Jeep in the Back-Country
Being a "Knucklehead" & parking at school...Because I can
Typically
once we’re in the woods, we hate coming out.
After a long, memorable day, however, a day that I turned 50, we made
the most of that afternoon. On a day
that was dubbed “Cousin’s Day” by somebody, somewhere, we spent most of the day
in the woods and in the river, and a little while in town. We were looking forward to heading back to
camp though. The following day was
another day of fishing on a different river.
Home is where the heart is.
