After a four hour drive we reached the launching place, loaded our gear into the canoes and started the upriver trip to an unmarked spot on the river bank where we would portage into the bush to a nameless wilderness lake. Here's a photo from my canoe with my oldest daughter up front. Another of our canoes, helmed by my second oldest son, is in the lead in the background ….
Half way through the portage, it started a steady downpour. We slogged our way up a stream and through standing pools of water and mud with canoes and packs on our backs. One thing we've learned about being in the bush in a pounding rain is that you can only get sopping wet and no wetter. So once you've reached the sopping wet stage, you can just relax and enjoy yourself because there's nothing to keep dry (except for our bedding which was in SealPacs). So we just slogged through whatever and kept going. If a fellow can't head into the wilderness in a pounding rain, then he's getting soft and, by gum, I don't ever want to get soft. The first thing we did when we arrived was to set up our kitchen where we could relax until the rain stopped. Here's a shot of the kitchen taken a couple days later; my fine wife is on the left, sipping a cup of wilderness-brewed coffee (ain't no coffee better) ….
Out in the bush, the position of the sun in the sky is more important than what time a fellow's watch happens to say. There's no schedule, no TV, no nothing but family, and the big, beautiful wilderness, which can kill you if you don't respect it, but can heal and rejuvenate you if you understand it. Nothing bonds a family together like the wilderness. It's one of the best things my wife and I ever did for us as a family. Here's three of the women visiting after a meal. One of my daughters-in-law is on the left and the other two are my daughters …..
Now I know some will be thinking 'folding lawn-chairs …. now that's getting soft!'. Well, okay, I ain't gonna argue. All I know is that it is dadgummed nice to sit in a comfy chair once in a while when you're in the bush. We like to have a campfire every evening come sundown. The best trees are the ones that are still standing, with little or no bark on them, but still a lot of fine twigs. You know those aren't punky. Here's a shot of the Old Geezer himself giving the tree a feel before laying the axe to it ….
The sixgun I'm packing is a S&W 2nd Model American made in 1873 and chambered for the popular (back then) 44 Russian. This particular sixgun spent the first part of its life in the very arid American southwest, as evidenced by its pristine bore and chambers. I've wondered what the very first owner would have said if he could have taken a peek into the future and seen his new sixgun still doing service 135 years later in the Northern wilderness. There are both Black Bear and Cougar where we were. We saw a very large Cougar just about 200 yards from our camp the last time we came in here. Most bears and Cougars will leave you alone, but note that I said 'most'. If a fellow is unarmed in the wilderness and he meets a bear or cougar, it is the bear's or cougar's decision whether you get harmed, killed, or eaten. I don't like leaving decisions like that up to animals. Being armed takes the decision out of their hands (or should I say 'out of their claws and jaws') and makes it my decision. My wilderness rifle is 'Old Savage', a Winchester 94, 30-30 carbine made in 1954, the very year I was born. A fellow can't always have a rifle in his hands when portaging, fishing or cutting wood, so I pack this antique sixgun when both hands are needed for other things. That way, I'm better equipped to provide security for my family. Out here, there is no 911 and we are all fine with that.
A crackling fire as night falls on a remote wilderness lake is mesmerizing. We'd sit around talking and feeling that life couldn't get better, and then the almost full moon would rise above the lake and a Loon would cry out on the water and we'd know that life just did get better. Here's a shot taken by the campfire …
I'd often stand down be the water after sunset just soaking up the beauty of the White Pines silhouetted against the darkening sky and the waxing moon rising in the East, with its light reflecting on the still lake. A fellow just plain feels close to God in times like that and I soak it in. Here's a shot of the Old Geezer down by the water, communing with his Maker ….
The first night we got a deluge. It started raining about 11:00 pm and pounded all night. Around 2:30 in the morning I took a peak out my door at my daughters' tent and at each my two oldest sons' tents where they and their wives were and wondered if they were dry. I was. There's nothing so wonderful and relaxing as being snug and dry in a tent with the sound of rain on the roof. This night, however, the sound of rain was a roar. The rain stopped as morning drew near and it turned out everyone was dry. I'm a big believer in tarping a tent. I've been in enough violent storms where tent-flys leaked that I figured I've done my time in wet tents. Here's a photo of my tent, battened down with tarps and anchored with rocks (you can't drive a tent peg into solid granite) …
…. and here's my two daughters relaxing and reading in their tent ….
The next day we started hauling in the fish. We let them all go again since there was nothing we could do with them. We only kept two that day that one of my sons and his wife had caught. Here's a photo of their two bass. My son caught the Smallmouth Bass and his wife landed the Largemouth Bass ….
We caught a lot of fish, all bass. We soon lost track of the numbers, releasing everything back into the water except for a few that we ate on different days when we felt like it. Here's my oldest son cleaning a Largemouth Bass for supper ….
Wild Blueberries grow all over the Northern wilderness. I bet if all the wild Blueberries in the North were piled up, it would be enough to bury New York city. Blueberry pancakes are a wilderness tradition with us so one morning some of us picked Blueberries while my oldest son rustled up some pancake batter and then we ate Blueberry pancakes with genuine Maple Syrup until we were stuffed silly. I figure wild Blueberries are one of God's many gifts to mankind, and I've thanked Him for them many times. Here's a photo of us porking out on Blueberry pancakes. The Old Geezer is the one in the hat. Note the dishes of wild Blueberries beside the griddle ….
Another thing we do a lot of is swimming. Our 'beach' is made of solid granite and drops straight off into 10 feet of water. Here's a shot of a group dive, with the Old Geezer 2nd from the right ….
…. and here's a close-up of the granite 'beach' with water that is so clean, we drink straight out of the lake with never a problem ….
Finally, it was time to pack up and leave. I did a final inspection of where we'd been to ensure that it was clean as a whistle and that we'd left nothing behind (except a small stack of split firewood that we didn't use). Here's a shot of us loading the canoes. My second oldest son's canoe has already left ….
We portaged through the bush once again and reached the river, where we reloaded our canoes. The photo below shows us in the final stages of reloading before setting out on our paddle down river back to civilization. The bush behind the two green canoes is the point where one has to begin the portage into the remote wilderness lake that has no official name, but my girls have named it 'Memory Lake' ….
Good post and pics.
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