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BUCKING THE CURRENT
We had broken camp, loaded our Duluth packs into the canoe, and set out at daybreak. It was plain to see that it was going to be another beautiful day, and the waters on the lake, at least for the time being, were as still as glass. My companion, Larry Hathaway, was from near Indianapolis, Indiana and this was his first canoe trip into wild country. Both of us were in our early twenties and in great physical shape, consequently, we were enjoying even the rigors of the outdoor life immensely. Our trip had taken us deep into the region along the Canadian-US border and we were presently on the lookout for a small river that we’d seen on our map. It was a stream that would take us even further into country that was seldom traveled.
I had purposely chosen a remote, difficult route for us to follow and in those days it was relatively simple to find just such a route. All you had to do was to select a canoe trail that had some longer and more difficult portages. A portage was a trail between lakes or rivers that necessitated picking up your canoe and packs and carrying them over a rough trail to where you could re-enter the next lake and continue on your way. Usually it required several trips to get everything across to the new entry point and, as you can imagine, few canoeists wanted to have to carry their canoe and packs any farther than absolutely necessary. Portaging can be an extremely rugged task, taxing even strong, robust men and it becomes even more tough if you’re traveling in the hot months when the black flies are swarming. They seem to have been especially designed for making life totally miserable, even more so than the man-eating mosquitoes of the north … and believe me, those mosquitoes can be plenty bad enough.
I once heard a fellow tell how he had been traveling alone through the bush when he chanced to come upon two mosquitoes that were right in his path. Immediately when they saw him they began to argue about what to do with him. One said, “Let’s just finish him off right here before he gets away!“ But the other one said, “No. Let’s take him further into the swamp, first.” Whereupon the first one replied, “No, no, no! We better drain him here and right away too. If we carry him any further into the swamp the big guys’ll take him away from us.” Sufficeth to say, black flies or mosquitoes, were both to be avoided as much as possible.
Fortunately, black fly season wasn’t yet in full bloom, but it was made up for by the never ending hum of the mosquitoes. And by the way, man’s greatest invention was not the wheel, as some claim. One trip to the northern wilderness will convince you that beyond any question of doubt, it was mosquito repellent.
After an hour or two of paddling we finally came upon the mouth of a narrow winding river. It was the one we’d been looking for, and it measured perhaps forty yards across. On both sides there stretched a lengthy meadow of marsh grass interspersed with old blackened tree stumps. A hundred yards farther back of the meadow stood the spruce forest. After paddling for perhaps thirty minutes more the marsh gradually diminished and we found the trees growing nearly up to the water’s edge. Up ahead we could see a thick patch of lily pads from which there arose a loud chorus of bass singers. Carefully I eased over the gunnels of the canoe into the water and found that the bottom was firm and only about chest deep. Taking my longbow and an arrow, I quietly waded closer to the shore until the water was only up to my knees. While I hunted for our supper, Larry fished, and before long we were both looking forward to a delicious supper of fried frog legs and fish.
We knew that somewhere up ahead the river would empty into a small lake, and it was our intention to set our camp up there before nightfall. Nature, however, had other plans for us.
As we moved on upriver we began to notice that the water was starting to flow a good deal swifter. Soon we were moving at a pace that clearly indicated we’d better go ashore and do some checking before proceeding any farther. However, before we could go ashore, we found ourselves rounding a sharp bend in the river and there right before us, jutting out into the river was a fallen tree blocking our way!. As the saying goes, the best laid plans of mice and men often go astray. Ours did just that right about that time.
Larry was in the bow of the canoe and I was in the stern where I could steer. It took only an instant to see that we were in a potentially bad situation but not an impossible one. The tree could be averted if I acted quickly, but Larry was unaware of that. It was his first canoe trip and he made a common mistake. Instead of continuing to paddle, he leaned way out in an effort to try and push us away from the tree with his paddle. In the next instant the canoe rolled, and we were both plunged into the ice cold turbulence of white water. There’d been no time to salvage anything. The only thing we could do now was to try to avoid being swept underwater and pinned up against the network of tree branches and brush that had accumulated under the tree. More than one canoeist had drowned in that exact same way.
The minutes following were a blur of fighting to make it around the log, through the swirling current, and then attempting to work our way to shore. Fortunately, the stretch of turbulent water didn’t extend any great distance , and both of us were able to make it to shore in one piece. We both looked like a couple of drowned rats and were, of course, soaked to the skin and shivering with cold. There was no time to lose since it would probably be dark in a relatively short time. Holding a brief pow-wow, we decided that Larry would immediately set out to gather a large pile of firewood, while I ran along the bank to locate the canoe and see if there was any sign of our large packs. From past experience I’d learned to always carry four things whenever I went into wild country, and they were in my possession now. On my hip was a razor sharp hunting knife, in my pocket there still nestled a waterproof match-safe filled with dry matches, and tied to my shirt pocket was a leather thong secured to a compass. In addition, on my belt I carried a small 5x5 inch pouch containing a handful of basic survival gear. All four items had suddenly become worth more than gold.
It didn’t take long to spot the canoe. It was directly in the middle of the river, and positioned broadside against a boulder that was protruding above the water. The violent force of the current had pinned the keel of the canoe tightly up against the surface of the huge rock. As I sent up a quick prayer of thanks, I thought to myself that freeing the canoe would be a simple matter. I was soon to find out that I couldn’t have been more wrong.
Continuing to run as close to the river’s bank as the trees and brush would allow, I finally came to a small cove. And there, on the opposite shore, was one of our missing packs, floating as peacefully as could be on the water’s surface. Circling the cove I retrieved our pack, slung it onto my shoulders, and quickly headed back toward where I’d left Larry. He looked a good bit relieved when he saw the load that I was carrying. As for our other pack, our fishing rods, and the rest of our basic equipment, they were all still missing. While I was gone, however, Larry had succeeded in gathering a sizable stack of firewood, and had managed to locate two of our three paddles. Upon discussing our situation we decided to wait until morning before trying to free the canoe. Our first concern was to strip off our wet clothing and get a really good fire going as quickly as possible. Already we were shivering almost uncontrollably, and we both knew that we needed to take immediate steps to head off hypothermia.
Upon examining the pack that had been salvaged, we found that we now had a few things that would come in handy right away … our bed rolls, a small tarp, a flashlight, and a few cooking utensils. We even found a few tea bags and two chocolate bars. Spreading our tarp near, the fire, and hanging our clothes on nearby bushes, we sat down and each feasted on a candy bar, and even treated ourselves to a cup or two of hot tea. We laughed and talked late into the night. One thing that still stands out in my mind was laying there in the darkness afterward and listening to the incessant loud splash of large fish as they would jump and then fall back into the water. I don’t believe that I have ever heard it happen so loudly and frequently as it did that night so many years ago.
The next morning we arose and prepared to work our canoe loose from where it still was firmly held against the boulder. Oddly enough, before heading north I’d wondered what it would be like to dive in some of those remote wilderness lakes where no one had ever dived before. I hadn’t taken into consideration the icy water temperature (and foam rubber suits were not around in those days). It only took a few such dives to cool my ardor, and end any further diving. But the swim fins and dive mask that I’d brought along were still attached to the outside of my retrieved pack. Consequently, before working on the canoe I decided to try diving and see if it was possible that any of our gear was on the bottom near the canoe. But how do you dive in water that swift? One thing that was in our favor was that the canoe was only about twenty yards offshore and after a few trial dives I discovered the canoe could be reached by crawling along the bottom and hugging the heavy stones that lay there until I could make it to the, lee side of the boulder. Once there, if I surfaced carefully, I could get another breath and continue checking the bottom near where the canoe had turned on its side. The problem was hanging on to the rocks without suddenly getting pulled into the current, losing my grip on the rocks and being washed downstream. To my delight, I did succeed in finding and retrieving the fishing rods and reels that we’d lost, but that was about all. I also learned while I was out there that trying to free the canoe was going to be something else.
It didn’t take long to discover that the canoe was so tightly lodged against the large boulder that it would require a Herculean effort to dislodge it from its resting place. Lucky for us, the canoe wasn’t canvas but aluminum; if it had been canvas, there would have been no way I could have worked it loose without snapping the hull in two or smashing in the sides. It soon became apparent that Larry had to join me, and working together we were at last able to move it. And though our best efforts were only able to move it an inch or two, it was enough to allow the current to catch the canoe, spin it on around the boulder, and send it scurrying downstream. (and us along with it). Its flotation apparatus kept it afloat and we were ultimately able to pull it ashore.
Needless to say, we were elated and immediately set about preparing to go on and complete the trip we’d begun. If necessary we could build lean-to’s for shelter, and with what we still had on hand, we figured we’d make out all right. And then another stroke of good fortune came our way. Much to our delight we discovered that farther downstream the second pack that we’d lost had floated along for quite a distance and finally had been stopped by some rocks along the shore line. To coin an appropriate phrase … “All’s well that ends well”.
Many years have passed since that memorable trip into wild country, but the memories linger on and they once again re-enforce a deep seated truth about life. Someday, when you look back, those experiences that stretched your mental and physical capabilities will be the ones that you’ll favor and share the most. Those experiences mixed with the loving experiences shared at special times with those you love, those will be the ones that you’ll really treasure. Life is precious, live it while you can! Make the days and nights of your life count. Don’t end your life knowing that you have never really lived!
Don’t be afraid to step out of the common, hum-drum existence that the crowd around you goes through. Risk a little. Go for something more than the usual repetitive routine of a life lived without any adventure at all. Refuse to die on the vine. Crawl out of the deep rut of a life lived without any attempt expand your limited horizon. Believe me, someday you’ll wish you had.
Life can be exciting and satisfying, or it can be the drab sameness of the mundane. It’s all up to us.
So often over the years as I’ve talked with people, I’ve heard them say, “You know, I always wanted to try that”, or, “We’ve always talked about going there” or, “That’s something we’re definitely going to do one of these days” or “We’ve dreamed about that and talked about it for a long time. Maybe after we get the house paid for” or “after I’ve retired” or, “after the dog dies and the kids are all moved out “ or, and on, and on, and on it goes. But one thing I’ve noticed over and over again … THEY NEVER DO IT.
I dare you to make it happen, Do it … just do it. It’s one thing to talk about it and another to go DO it.
Before you know it, it’ll all be over, and you’ll find yourself a mere shell of the man or woman that you once were, lacking the strength and ability to do those things that you once were capable of doing. You’ll awaken too late, and discover that life has passed you by, and you haven’t really lived at all. You’ve just existed..
I’m not talking about merely living frivolously like some thrill seeking vagabond whose life is spent chasing rainbows that aren’t there. Nor am I advocating that life ought to be lived recklessly, and without purpose. I am saying get out and taste something of what life has to offer while you can. Don’t waste it by plodding along in a mundane, bland existence …. one that attempts nothing, risks nothing, and leaves you unfulfilled. Break out of your cocoon and live life while you still can! Don’t end your life knowing that you have never really lived!
What I am trying to say was well expressed by David Thoreau when he said, “We must also remember that the days of vigorous health, keen eyes to behold the beauties of life, and physical strength to do the things we dream of … all these are draining out of our lives like grains of sand in an hourglass. Too often we expend them in acquiring things and then discover we have not the strength or vigor to enjoy them. Our children grow to maturity and leave and the chance we once had to enjoy them is gone forever. We sweat and toil and labor for that which is of less value than that which we passed by in order to obtain it. When finally we have the big home, car, and conveniences and our monthly check comes to give us leisure to retire we find we have run out of two very essential things to enjoy our hard won goal ---- youth … and time. As the Bible puts it we have reached the time when “the evil days come” about which we say, “we have no pleasure in them.”
Some live their lives to the full and leave memories that will be pleasant to grow old with. Some never do, and never will even know what they’ve missed. What have you done? What have you experienced that someday in your twilight years you will look back on and the memory will bring a smile to your lips and put a twinkle in your eye? What days have you lived that are never to be forgotten, days worth remembering again and again, memories that bring with them the knowledge that you have truly lived your life and not just existed for a short period of time?
Posted by cdrnorth at March 30, 2006 1:37 PM