SHANDELLE MARIE HENSON
a delightful and
pleasant traveling companion!
THE INCESTUOUS RAPE OF MOTHER EARTH
" ... WE GIVE THANKS TO YOU, LORD GOD
ALMIGHTY WHO IS AND WHO WAS, BECAUSE YOU
HAVE TAKEN YOUR GREAT POWER AND HAVE BEGUN
TO REIGN .... AND FOR DESTROYING THOSE WHO
DESTROY THE EARTH." Rev. 11: 18 NIV
Henson's first LAW of DEPRIVATION states
that "All scientific and technological
'advances' cause a deprivation to the
environment that is directly proportional to
the significance of the advance.
The dictionary defines pollution as 'the act
of defiling, or making dirty'. In our use I
would like to describe it as 'any action of
man that reduces livability within the
universe or deprives any of its inhabitants
of a natural, pristine environment'. Below
is a list of some forms of pollution. I am
sure that if you are sensitive to the needs
of the environment you can add others.
* WATER
Run Off,
Streams,
Rivers,
Lakes,
Ground Water,
Oceans & Seas,
Etc..
* LIGHT
* ELECTROMAGNETIC
Radio,
Television,
Electric Transmission,
Microwave Transmission,
Etc..
* FOOD
Chemicals,
Bacterial,
Processing.
Chemicals,
Fertilizers,
Radiation Fallout,
Landfills,
Atomic Waste,
Etc..
The very presence of man in significant
numbers is a polluting influence. The
environment as we know it can not sustain
the present population of the earth over the
long haul. The environment is deteriorating
and we do not understand what the next level
of equilibrium may be. Suffice it to say
that it will be a more chaotic state.
We have been brain washed to believe that
'we cannot stand in the way of progress'. It
is my contention that not enough people have
tried it at the same time. Most of what we
call progress is suicide.
We are talking of the electric automobile as
if it would be a panacea for air pollution.
It is a dangerous trade that we would be
making. The present gasoline engine would be
unacceptable if it were not for the prospect
of running out of oil. It pollutes the lower
3000 feet of the atmosphere. But when we
plug in our electric 'pollution free' car
the generators kick in at the Generating
Plant and the fossil fuels begin to burn.
The extreme heat and the tall smoke stacks
will ship the pollution into the outer
stratosphere, and out of the range of the
thunderstorm which scrubs and cleans our air
to a degree.
Henson's second LAW OF DEPRIVATION states,
"The more we do to improve the pollution
problem, using technology, the more complex
and damaging the results will be to the
environment."
Water supplies our needs and recreation.
Pure water is becoming more difficult to
get. Why else would merchants sell jugs of
the substance in their stores? You can only
sell that which is valuable, and scarce. The
ocean was once a pool of clear, fresh water,
but the vitae of the earth has been
dissolved and carried there rendering most
of our available water brackish with salts.
Mankind is taking care to ruin the balance
of the water. It will soon be, "Water,
water, everywhere, but not a drop to drink!"
The full effects of Electro-Magnetic
Pollution may not be understood for decades
to come. I remember one night taking my
family to a large Electric Transmission line
near our home. It was of the new type that
has a group of three cables in clusters.
The wires are held apart with triangular
insulators. An electric storm flows between
the three wires, and transmits electricity
almost as if the three were one solid
conductor the diameter of the triangle.
We were carrying a four foot fluorescent
bulb in our hand as we approached the power
line. The light bulb began to burn. The
children were impressed. I explained to them
that a large amount of the high voltage
electricity being transmitted was radiating
into the air around us. We did not fully
understand the harm, but we did know that
our area was being polluted by
electromagnetic waves. It is true that the
energy is dissipated by the square of the
distance from the wires, but for many yards
around it forms an extremely hazardous zone.
I will speak of another pollution, and that
is "Mind Pollution". When we pollute the air
it can be washed free by rainfall, and if
the pollution ceases to exist the air will
eventually be pure again. If we stop
polluting the streams, in time they will
flow clean again. However, there may remain
chemical sludge on their bottoms for
countless centuries to come.
But the mind is different. That which is put
into it is there for a lifetime. We may not
always be able to access or recall the
material, but it is there. That is why I
resent another telling me a harmful story,
be it the evening news, a friend with a
smutty little story, or some of the
unspeakable trash that is unloaded on
America daily through television. The old
saying that "The world is watching America,
and America is watching television" is true.
We are producing more garbage for worldwide
consumption through that media than can be
consumed by the world and retain an healthy
mental outlook.
I make no apologies for having been born in
an era that used the kerosene lamp to dispel
the shadows of darkness at night. Just a
generation or two before me they used the
candle as had the people for the past two
thousand years. In fact much of the
conversation of the day carried graphic
images from those past times. If one were to
do a foolish thing, I have heard them say,
"Its like breaking a 25 cent butcher's knife
skinning a gnat for its tallow." My
lifetime has spanned a great technological
revolution. I have seen the advantages of
both life styles. It is certainly
challenging to live in today's world, but I
fear that the emotions of man are better
suited to the old days and old ways.
There were the days when man had to be
protected from the Wolf and the Bear. Today
the wild kingdom must be protected from man.
Where is the middle ground? Where can both
live in harmony? Is it too much to ask for
this world? Must we wait in patience for the
Kingdom of God?
On Lake Superior great ships are hauling
minerals, ore, timber, and grain to the
hungry markets of the world. They are
carrying off those things and are denuding
large areas. What is wrong with leaving
things where the Lord placed them? The
children of the earth are raping their
mother, and their reward will be
destruction.
When I was a child America had a population
of about 150,000,000. It seemed to me that
the wilderness was larger than anything that
mankind could do to injure it. That was
before the Atom Bomb, bulldozer, automated
forest harvesting systems and other things
that kept the greed of man searching for
ways to faster denude the earth of all but
its molten core.
Strewn across America are the great concrete
cooling towers of our atomic power
generating plants. They spew steam into the
air as a warning to the people. I call those
towers 'The Tombstones of Civilization'. We
have learned nothing from the Three Mile
Island accident, or the accidents that have
happened in Russia, and other places. When I
was a youth in high school we were told that
atomic energy was coming; that it would be
so inexpensive that they would not bother to
meter it, but charge a flat yearly fee. As
so much of the other optimism of those 1950s
it did not prove to be so. There is no free
lunch. If we eat we must pay, but why charge
the environment?
I had a young friend by the name of Richard
Byrd. He said that he was a third cousin to
the Rear Admiral Byrd of the U.S. Navy fame.
Richard had a well balanced perspective on
the environment at 10 years of age. I
remember one day we were in the mountains of
east Tennessee. It was spring and the time
when young boys are searching for something
but are not sure just what.
We came upon a small meadow with a southerly
facing and surrounded by woods. Growing in
the lea were a half acre of mountain
pansies. The blooms are hardly as large as
their cultivated cousins. We were not
hypercritical. It was a fairy land of
beauty, for the plants, being early
bloomers, were in an array of color. There
is something within every rightly
constructed lad that causes him to wish to
share beauty when he is confronted with it.
This was a most unexpected windfall.
I began gathering a handful of the pretty
flowers to take home to mother. (I am sure
that I discarded them hours before arriving
home, due to the excitement of other
adventures. If not, they were sure to have
been wilted ruins upon my arrival home.) On
my knees I continued to pick. At last
Richard said, "That is enough. Leave some
for another time!" I was not thinking of
another time. I was relying solely upon the
pleasures of now. So it is with even adults
today. They will make and spend their future
now and leave their grandchildren with the
dregs of a has-been. Where Richard learned
his conservation principle, I do not know,
but I wish every mother in America, and in
the world, would instruct their children to
'waste not, want not!'.
Due to pollution of the planet we are
experiencing some unusual weather. The old
records fall almost daily. We are now having
the worst flooding that the mid-west has
seen in recorded history. The 100 year flood
plains have been swamped, and the people who
have foolishly built on the banks of rivers
and in lowlands are finding their homes
under water. Dikes are breaking all up and
down the Mississippi and Missouri Rivers. In
Hannibal, Missouri it is estimated that it
will be five months before the water is back
to its normal level in the river.
As we drove through the rolling farmland of
Missouri, I thought "how pleasant." Then we
saw a sign that read, "Caldwell County" and
I fell into a period of depression. A weight
had entered my breast. Mankind has thrown a
political net across the land, breaking it
into little domains and kingdoms. The net is
drawn in by the will of small self-serving
men. There can be no freedom except in the
complete submission to law, and this is
good. However, too often the small, self-
serving man is the law. He derives his power
from a political structure based on cowardly
men doing his bidding for the benefits that
they receive, and the power given them by
their overlords..
The problem of pollution is self solving.
Nature will rise up in violence against
those who have polluted. Is that not all of
us? She will destroy all but a few hardy
souls unless the Lord Jesus Christ comes and
saves the earth from our hand.
Dried beef,
Oatmeal,
Grits,
Rice,
Dried apples,
Dried peas,
Dried corn,
Dry cereal,
Dry milk,
Dry soups,
Dried mushrooms,
Dried potatoes,
Mixed nuts,
Potatoes,
Cheese,
Bisquick,
Syrup,
Marshmallows,
Cooking oil,
Salt,
Pepper,
Tea,
Coffee,
Hot chocolate,
Bouillon cubes,
Kool aide.
LoMotil,
Antibiotic,
Antihistamine,
Aspirin,
Vitamins,
Sunscreen (Waterproof No. 30),
Insect repellant,
Skin-so-soft.
Wool shirt (Long sleeves),
Insulated underwear,
1 pr. shoes,
1 pr. flip flops,
2 pr. trousers,
2 pr. under shorts,
2 pr. undershirts,
2 pr. socks,
1 belt,
1 hat,
2 shirts,
Swimsuit.
Permits,
Maps,
Compass,
Tent,
Water filter,
Ground cloth,
Rope (5 various lengths),
Stove,
Fuel,
Dishcloth,
Flashlight,
Extra batteries,
Camera,
Extra batteries,
Film (5 rolls each),
Water proof camera case,
Backpacker's trowel,
All purpose soap,
Cookwear,
Toothpaste,
First aid kit,
Mirror,
Air mattress,
Chair,
Plates,
Cups,
Silverwear,
Duct tape,
Water proof matches,
Cigarette lighter,
Sewing kit,
2 approved floation devices.
Shaving Brush,
Razors (2 hoe type),
Water bottles (2),
Sleeping bag,
Back pack,
Rain gear,
Towel,
Bandana,
Toilet paper (3 rolls total),
Comb,
Toothbrush,
Writing paper,
Pens (2),
Fish hook with line,
Garbage bag,
Dirty clothes bag,
Hunting knife,
Sunglasses,
Reading glasses,
Driver's License,
Fishing Permit,
Road Atlas,
Hair Spray,
Visa Card,
Money,
Checks.
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CHAPTER TWO
I must admit that I was somewhat fearful to
make this journey into the wilderness. Would
the car function properly? Would I become
ill so far from doctors and loved ones. But
why should we let fear control our lives?
Fear is a greater enemy than any other. It
is so basic an element of life. It is not
limited to man.
I remember once that I was watching an
amoeba under a microscope. It was moving
around by the use of its pseudopod. I
inserted a wire into his realm, and he
rapidly withdrew from it. Flies see the
uplifted hand and escape. Perhaps they have
never seen a hand before. Maybe they are
unacquainted with death, yet they fear
destruction.
Those one celled protozoa, and the more
complex fly are born to react to danger with
a fear response. If the uninformed react by
an unconditioned reflex, how much more
reason man has to fear. Man has seen the
result of accidents and knows pain through a
very complex nervous system. Can we then
remove all fear, or are the individual cells
of our body reactive to fear? I suggest that
fear is one of the most basic of all our
responses. I find that the things that we
seem to fear seldom happen.
I called the Hannibal, Missouri police
department at 11 am. The lady that answered
the telephone said that their city was not
flooded. She said that the bridge across the
Mississippi River in Hannibal was closed
because of flooding on the Illinois side.
(My Mother always sang Mississippi as "M -
eye - crooked letter - crooked letter - eye -
crooked letter - crooked letter - eye -
humpback - humpback - eye" in a sing-song
fashion. It was a little spelling crutch
that her elementary school teacher had
taught her.) The police lady continued by
saying that the Quincy, Illinois bridge was
still open. Before noon of the same day the
levee broke and that bridge was taken from
service.
She said that tourism was down but that they
were not discouraging tourists. There were
many available motel rooms in the area.
Shan then called Doug Jordan of the Outdoor
Adventure Outfitters and asked about the
weather. He said that the temperature was in
the high 60 degree Fahrenheit to the low
70s, that the water was about one foot above
normal in the lakes and that the mosquitoes
were normal. Doug said that it had begun to
rain today but that it had been clear and
pleasant until now.
Shan and I left Stonehenge (Chattanooga) at
6 am. and drove west to Nashville, Tennessee
on Interstate 24, and through Kentucky to
the end of I-24. We crossed the Ohio River
at 9:35 Central Daylight Time near Paducah,
Kentucky. At the end of I-24 we went north
on I-57 to I-64 and to St. Louis, Missouri,
crossing the Mississippi River at 12:45 cdt.
The ARCH of St. Louis appeared through the
pollution miles before we reached the River.
The lay of the land to the east of the River
up through Illinois was flat. The farmland
was covered with green, lush crops of corn.
As we got within about 25 miles of the River
the land began to swell and roll like the
gentle hills of Tennessee.
The River was at flood stage. The waters
were lapping near the foot of the ARCH.
River boats were moored above flooded
asphalt parking lots along the River, and
hundreds of people stood in the bright
sunshine by the ARCH looking at their friend
the River, recently turned enemy.
We were told that the flooding would not
continue to the south of St. Louis because
the river is so deep. In places it is over
110 feet deep, and is capable of holding
seven times the water of the upper river
without flooding.
Just west of St. Louis, along I-70, at the
city of St. Charles, Missouri we crossed the
Missouri River. I remember visiting the
flood damage of the Missouri to the city of
Kansas City, Kansas back in 1951. The River
had washed away homes and businesses. Silt
had settled in the upper stories of
buildings and as the water went down the
weight of the silt crashed the floors down
to the first level. A lumber yard had stood
upriver from a bowling ally. The timbers
were floated down river so rapidly that they
leveled the walls. I remember seeing one
small section of the wall standing with 2x4s
sticking out of the walls where they did not
get pushed all the way through. I saw people
with wheelbarrows and shovels sifting
through the silt and muck for their jewelry
and other valuables where their house had
once stood. The Gackenheimers were living in
Kansas City, Missouri at this time, and
Audrey and I were there for a visit.
Traveling west on I-70, and just beyond
O'Fallon, Missouri we turned north onto U.S.
Highway 61 going to Hannibal, Missouri. We
arrived in Hannibal about 3 pm. cdt. Our
interest in this little city was its being
the birth place of Samuel Clemens (Mark
Twain), and the setting for his stories of
Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn. I have always
enjoyed the writing of Sam Clemens and the
understanding that he had of the young mind.
Many of the enterprises that appeared in his
book were things that we did in Tennessee in
the 1930s.
Samuel Clemens wrote and lectured himself to
fame under the name of Mark Twain, a
riverboat pilot's lingo for 12 feet deep. He
was born on November 30, 1835, and died on
April 21, 1910. He was born when Haley's
Comet made its appearance in 1835 and always
said that he would "go out when the comet
came back" and that he did. His birthday was
the same day as mine. Mr. Clemens was born
in Florida, Missouri and moved with his
family to Hannibal when he was about four
years of age. He was buried in Elmira, N.Y..
His travel trademark was a white linen suit
and a big cigar. His father died when he was
11 years old. They were poor and he left
school to become a printer like his brother
Orion. Although he was only on the river as
a pilot for about three years, he ran across
many characters that were later used in his
books. He was married to Ms. Olivia Langdon
in February of 1870. They had four children,
of whom only Clara lived to reach maturity.
Mark Twain enjoyed traveling and made many
trips to Europe, and the Holy Land,
traveling all the way around the world once.
His works were well received all across the
world. Huckleberry Finn was first published
in London, and the next year in America.
Ernest Hemmingway said that modern American
literature "Begins with Huckleberry Finn".
The town of Hannibal is a mixture of the old
and the new. A sign announcing entry into
the city shows the population at 18,004. Sam
Clemens states in "Life on the Mississippi"
that the population when he returned after a
30 year absence was 15,000. That was in the
later 1800s. You could see on the sign where
the population estimates had been lowered
over the years. The city had at one time
been in excess of 19,000 souls. It was a
trip of 572 miles from Chattanooga to
Hannibal.
The town of Hannibal has industries that
include: shoemaking, cement, precision
tools, woodworking, printing, optical
supplies, with dairy and farm products.
The first order of business upon entering
town was to find a motel. We rented room 231
of the Hannibal House Motor Inn (a Best
Western Motel) for $36.00 a night plus tax.
That brought the price to just over $39.00.
We went to a grocery store and called
Audrey. We bought a gallon of bottled water
because we were afraid of the local supply
for fear that it might have too much
chlorine or not enough.
The town like its illustrious writer is
dead. We drove uptown and parked the car.
When we got out we walked the levee along
the River to see the flood damage. The water
was getting near the top of the obstruction.
People were loading sand bags and trying to
restrain the ever-rising River. The cresting
reports were continually being revised. It
is not good to see a town that is laid siege
by an angry River. If the dike breaks the
whole lower part of the town will be under
water. Even where we parked the car would
have flooded over its roof.
The River is 32 feet above normal. The
buildings that stand between the dike and
the River are flooded. We were told that the
River level would fall one-tenth foot per
day, once the rains stopped. They were
expecting the waters to be normal again by
Christmas of 1993.
While we were on the Levee we saw a man
dressed as Sam Clemens might have been in
his day. He was a walking history of
Hannibal. The city has been spared most of
the flooding, thanks to the levees, and if
they continue to hold. We drove south along
Highway 79 to Bear Creek. Mark Twain said
that it was named Bear Creek because of "its
notable absence of bears". The Creek was
flooded and the houses standing along the
inlet to the River were presenting only the
eaves of the roofs to inspection.
Highway 79 was closed just to the south of
Hannibal. The Mark Twain Cave is located
about one mile to the south of town on that
route. The mouth of the Cave was also
flooded. This was the cave that was featured
in the story of "Huckleberry Finn", as the
place where Injun Joe died.
The bridge that spans the Mississippi in
Hannibal was dedicated by President Franklin
D. Roosevelt in 1936. As you looked across
the River to the Illinois side, you could
see the approach to the bridge was swamped,
and the bridge was closed until the waters
recede.
As we walked the streets we saw the home of
Sam Clemens, Becky Thatcher, and Huck Finn.
Historical markers tell the story. Down near
the levee, at the foot of Cardiff Hill is
the spot where the old jail stood. It is the
jail where Muff Potter was incarcerated
awaiting trial for the alleged murder of
young Doctor Robinson.
It was 95 degrees Fahrenheit and very humid.
It came a rain in the late afternoon but I
was already wet from perspiration and it did
not matter. The mid-west is getting all of
the rain this year. Tennessee is dry and
parched. If the moisture could just be
spread out there would be enough for
everyone.
At the foot of Cardiff Hill stands a
monument to Tom and Huck. It is about
lifesized. In "Life on the Mississippi" Mr.
Clemens calls Cardiff Hill, Holiday Hill. We
took the steps that led to the summit of the
hill, and I went puffing up to the top.
According to the local historian that we met
on the dike, Mr. and Ms. Holiday lived on
Cardiff Hill. He was a steamship pilot and
one night was killed because one of the
River lights was not burning. He had a wreck
with the steamship. Ever after Ms. Holiday
kept a light burning in the window of her
house for the rivermen. She was the "Widow
Douglas" in Huck Finn, and had a sister, Ms.
Watson.
A lighthouse was built on the Hill and later
it was destroyed by an electrical storm and
rebuilt. The town does not seem too proud of
the replacement, and it is deteriorating
rather badly.
As the day began to shorten we drove across
Bear Creek on Highway 79 to "Lover's Leap".
It is a high rock precipice overlooking the
River. Just down River from that point is
Jackson's Island where the story of the
runaway slave Jim occurred. We could see a
grand view of the River from there. Lots of
people were there looking at the flooded
houses and area. Shan wanted to stay until
the sun was just dropping behind a hill so
that she could get a picture of the flooded
town along Bear Creek.
I saw a car there at Lover's Leap with an
Iowa tag. Looking around I spotted who I
thought was the owner of the car. I was
looking for information about the flooding
through Iowa where we would be driving the
next day. Yes! It was their car but they had
little information on the flooding because
they are now living in Hannibal. We chatted
for awhile and something made me think of
Sam Campbell, and I asked them if they had
ever heard of a mid-western naturalist by
the name of Sam Campbell. They said "yes"
much to my delight. Then the lady said,
"Excuse me for asking, but are you a Seventh-
day Adventist?" As it came to light, he was
the local pastor. Their name was Rogers. He
had gone back to school late in life at
Union College in Lincoln, Nebraska. We sat
and talked until darkness enveloped the
region and the mosquitoes came out in force
looking for supper.
There were many people available to talk
about the city. They were friendly and some
of them only a little better than dim-wits.
We met the city drunk up by the lighthouse,
and he told us that he had gone to the FDR
dedication of the bridge across the mighty
Mississippi River in 1936. The bridge that
Sam Clemens says crosses the river in the
1880s is farther north of town.
Highway 61 continues from Hannibal to the
west shore line of Lake Superior north of
Duluth, Minnesota. We had been told on
Friday that the Quincy bridge was open, but
before the sun set that day a levee broke
and the bridge was put out of commission.
We left the motel at 6:15 cdt and drove west
along Missouri's mid-land on Highway 36
west. Its a drive of 175 miles or half-way
across the state, to Cameron, Missouri. The
entire area is agricultural ground swelling
with low gentle rolls across the state's
beltland. The weather was clear as we left
Hannibal, but soon large dark Mammatocumulus
clouds were keeping us on the alert for
tornados. We expected to see the long
sweeping snout of the most violent storm
moving across the plains. Gas stations and
services for the traveler are few and far
between in this area.
The Grand River and other waterways had
flooded much of the land across Missouri.
The water had receded and left its high mark
on trees and crops. The trees and shrubs
along the River were dead and brown where
the water had stood, and green above. I
thought that the water must contain some
chemical to have played such havoc with the
trees. Maybe they were asphyxiated.
The crops on lowland and river bottom farms
were ruined. In some places the topsoil had
been eroded, and in others it was deposited
on the old land. The river bottom farmers
have an advantage over the upland ones in
most years, but this year the balance is
turned. The upland farmer is getting a lot
of rain and his crops look lush. Where one
farmer lost by the unusual rainfalls the
other has gained. I am sure that prices will
go up in the stores because people are
expecting them to be higher. However, I
believe that the crop system will average
out to be a good year. I do not doubt that
there are many farmers who will be put out
of business or set back for several years,
but there can be no justification for market
price increases of food.
We reached Interstate 35 at Cameron and
turned north toward Des Moines, Iowa. Shan
drove about 150 miles along this stretch and
then took a good nap while I drove. The
Raccoon River was playing havoc with the
east side of the city of Des Moines. We went
around on the west side of town, passing
West Des Moines where the Gackenheimers had
lived for about five years in the 1950s.
I used to enjoy seeing the gold dome of the
State Capitol Building loom up across the
farm land glinting the rays of the sun into
the traveler's eyes. The glow of the 1950s
has given way to tarnish. The State started
a project to clean the dome to restore the
glitter, but ran out of money. As we came
across the north side of the city we could
look back and see the dome of the State
Capitol in the air pollution of the city.
As we entered Minnesota the temperature was
getting more pleasant. It was in the lower
70 degrees Fahrenheit, and bright and sunny.
We drove 700 miles between Hannibal and
Duluth, arriving by mid afternoon at the
Motel in Duluth.
Duluth is a beautiful city located on the
banks of the St. Louis River and Lake
Superior. It has a fresh clean look, and is
one of Shan's favorite American cities.
We got the last available room (221) in the
Comfort Inn on 40th Street. An azure sky
with 72 degrees made it a beautiful setting.
The motel cost us $67.00 but it was a nice
facility with a continental breakfast that
would have cost us $10.00 if we had
purchased it outside. Shan and I went to a
Greek/American Restaurant for dinner. I had
a Greek salad of which I am so fond. We
called Audrey. She was out in the yard
watering plants. It was still 93 degrees
in Chattanooga. Why would people live in a
place like that when such lovely summer
weather is available?
As we were traveling on Interstate 35 we met
a lady driving about 65 miles per hour
coming down the wrong way on the freeway. We
immediately had prayer for those coming to
meet her, that they not be injured or
killed. We thanked the Lord for His goodness
in sparing our lives on this journey. We
were tired and went to bed at 9:45 pm. cdt.
This is the day that the Lord has given me
and I will rejoice in it, was my song as we
began to travel the last leg of our journey.
We had caught a view of Lake Superior as we
came over the rim of the basin into Duluth
last night. Now we were to see it first
hand. Highway 61, the same road that we were
on at Hannibal, Missouri, runs north along
the west shore of the mighty Lake. It was 55
degrees when we were loading the car, and
very clear.
Lake Superior has the largest surface area
of any fresh water lake in the world. It is
also the deepest of the Great Lakes. Its
waters extend to the Atlantic Ocean via the
St. Lawrence seaway and down through the
other Great Lakes to the Mississippi River
and at last to the Gulf of Mexico. It covers
31,700 square miles, being 350 miles long at
its greatest reach, and 160 miles wide. The
elevation of the lake is 600 feet above sea
level, and is over 1300 feet deep at its
deepest. Most of the shoreline is forested.
There are 200 rivers who dump their waters
into the lake. The largest of these is the
St. Louis River which terminates at Duluth.
Many of these rivers end in a spectacular
waterfall across rocky headlands into the
Lake.
The crystal clear waters of the Lake
splashed along the shore as we caught sight
of it through the birch and fir trees
growing along the verge of the lake. There
are summer houses on the left of the road,
and in spots there would be a commercial
establishment. It definitely has the
atmosphere of the American far north.
About 40 miles out of Duluth we stopped at
the Split Rock Lighthouse, and Pebble Beach.
It is part of the Park System and they
charged us $4.00 to enter. Tall Birch trees
were bending under the stiff breeze from the
Lake. We parked in a deserted parking lot
and stepped the few yards to the waters of
the Lake. I stooped and tasted the water to
be sure that it was fresh, and not an arm of
the sea. The water was soft and frigid, and
the bottom looked up as if you were seeing
it through a piece of clear, moving glass.
Pebble beach is well named. There are fist
sized stones covering the beach down into
the water. We walked along to our left and
stopped on a flat outcropping of rock right
at the water's edge. I sat down looking at
the morning sun rising out of the Lake to
the east. It was an endless sea of water as
far as the eye could see. Farther around to
the south could be seen the distant shores
of Michigan and Wisconsin.
It was now 60 degrees Fahrenheit in the
shade and warm and agreeably pleasant under
the bright morning sun. Wavelets rushed the
shore at our feet. From the point where we
were sitting the slab of rock curved away to
the north terminating at another point of
land. The slab rock gave way to a beach
strewn with large, well worn boulders. We
could no longer see the shoreline beyond
that point. On this promontory stood a
lighthouse on a stony cliff about 100 feet
above the water's edge. It is a diminutive
structure about 30 feet tall with the top
one-third painted black. The top is
dedicated to lights, windows and mirrors.
The mid-section is painted a soft primrose
yellow with a white base. It stands blind by
day, but looks into the night to assist the
mariners of the large boats that ply the
waters, carrying the wealth of the region
abroad, to stay clear of the treacherous
reefs in Beaver Bay. The lighthouse stood at
10 o'clock to the early rising sun. Looking
south the shoreline curves in a horseshoe
shape to obscure the distant point behind a
small island in the Lake.
The isle's stony surface covers about three
acres, and from my position is at 3 o'clock
to the rising sun. The surface of the island
stands 30 feet above the waters at the land
side, sloping to within 15 feet on the Lake
side. It is crowned with a diadem of green
fir and pine. It can be accessed by getting
one's feet wet and wading a small partially
submerged causeway of stone. However, it is
a sanctuary for wildlife and admittance is
not allowed at this time of year.
Behind us stood low lying hills that formed
the rim of the bowl in which the waters of
Lake Superior are contained. I conjectured
what would happen if the earth found a rusty
place on its pole and made a series of
jerks, spilling this water across the
features of earth, and its puny inhabitants.
In an hour of sunning and meditation on the
beach we saw no more than half a dozen other
people. It was a pristine experience.
I looked north beyond the lighthouse and
thought of the Isle Royale which is in the
territory of the state of Michigan. It is a
large sanctuary island off the northwest
shores of the Lake. There are moose and
wolves who are permanent inhabitants of this
frigid piece of real estate within the
waters of Lake Superior.
The Lake almost never freezes solid across.
However, the shoreline and harbors are
hostage to ice from December to April in an
average year. One year, so the story goes,
the Lake did freeze as far as Isle Royale,
and the wildlife walked across to the Island
and set up permanent residence. They are
protected there today from the wanton waste
of man.
I have described scarcely a mile of this
wonderful shoreline. There are hundreds of
miles just as charming as those that our
vision had taken into memories' scrapbook.
Those waters were splashing that shore when
our fathers came to this country. The waters
were pure and clean when Abraham was follow-
ing his sheep across barren deserts looking
for fresh water and grass. The Indian was at
the same time harvesting the long black
grains of rice for which this territory is
so well known, and the waterfowl were eating
them long before any man was in the region.
The wild rice is on sale all through the
northland. The Indian gets much of his
sustenance and income from this lake grown
grain. The individual kernel is about the
size of the lead of a wooden pencil, and 5/8
of an inch in length. Five pounds of broken
rice sold for $9.00, and the whole grain
sold for $5.00 a pound. I brought four one
pound bags home. As the rice is cooked the
black outer shell bursts exposing the white
sperm within. It is delicious when cooked,
and may be served in any way that standard
rice can be prepared.
I stretched out on the warm stone slab and
was soon dozing away. The wind in its rush
to the shore would blow an occasional drop
of the fresh, pure water on my face. This
was refreshing. It should never end. When I
sat up Shan was gone. Later I could see her
walking in the direction of the lighthouse
among the large boulders that are strewn
upon that part of the shore.
Youth have such marvelous eyes. They see the
wonders of the world. Their vision has not
been blinded by greed, and the push and
shove of modern life. I covet their
perspective. When Shan returned she was
carrying a small frond of Balsam Fir. I
crushed the substance with my fingers and
savored the aromatic effluvium with my
nostrils. There is a healing quality just to
inhale the sweet odor of nature. There is
more life out there than we can ever savor
with our senses, but too often we neglect
the few opportunities that we do have.
The flies can be vicious at this season in
the north country by day. In the late
afternoon the flies leave and about half an
hour later the mosquitoes come to take their
place. When the season is particularly bad
with these vermin the people all appear to
have Parkinson's disease, for their hands,
arms, and legs are in constant motion,
swatting, shooing, and killing.
We continued for 60 miles along the coast to
Silver Bay. From this small village we
turned west along Highway 1. It is a lovely
stretch of highway going through the forests
of northern Minnesota. We crossed the
Kawishiwi River while we were on this
Highway. Highway 1 ends in Ely, Minnesota,
and so did our trip to the northland. It was
about 60 miles across from Silver Bay to
Ely.
In the early 20th century Ely was a Finnish
logging camp. Hotels were not popular in
those days but the small town had more than
its share of Boarding Houses. Today the
"Oberstar Boarding House" still stands. Its
doors are now closed to the hot meals and
clean covers of Ma Oberstar's House. Shan
wondered if Sam Campbell was a frequenter of
the establishment. It was opened in 1895.
Today Ely looks half modern and half
frontier town. There are about 4 traffic
lights on the main street, with stop signs
serving the balance of the town.
We had a meeting with Mr. Doug Jordan at the
outfitters at 6:30 pm.. We called Audrey
from up town and wished her health and
happiness during our eight day communication
blackout. From there we went to the Sir-"G"s
restaurant for dinner. It is an Italian-
American establishment. We dove back to the
outfitters and prepared for the night. At
our meeting with Mr. Jordan we saw a video
on how to survive in the wilderness. We paid
him $147.00 for the canoe rent, Duluth pack,
and sleeping bags. The cabins are free on
the night before launch. They are small
rooms with four bunks in them.
We had rented a canoe with three paddles,
one Duluth Bag, and two Kelty summer
sleeping bags from the outfitters. The
paddle is selected to fit the individual,
standing just about chin high on each. Shan
removed the sleeping bags from their sleeves
and inserted a plastic garbage bag inside
the cover and re-stuffed the sleeping bag.
The top of the plastic bag was tied,
securing it from the water, and the flap and
draw-string finished sealing the bags. Our
food had been doled out into generous
individual meals before we left home. They
were enclosed in zip-lock plastic bags, and
the day for which it had been packed was
written inside the bag on a piece of paper.
We now packed the food into the Duluth Bag
in the reverse order to which it was
intended to be eaten. This was done in our
room at the cabin.
We carried a Kelty Backpack for each of us.
Each contained a bottle of cooking fuel, and
two bottles of water. The sleeping bag was
tightly lashed to the bottom of the frame.
Our clothes had been packed in another
sleeve with a plastic bag inside for
protection. They made a bundle about the
size of the sleeping bag and were stored in
the top of the upper center compartment of
the backpack. I had a heavy duty air
mattress that served me well on the entire
journey. The cooking utensils were in my
bag, as was my camera, the ground cloth for
the tent, the water filter, plastic plates,
rain gear, and other personal items.
I was perspiring by the time we were
finished packing for the wilderness, and
went out to sample the rage of the
mosquitoes. We had made all the preparations
to the Nth degree, and felt satisfied that
we were ready for our solo flight to the
lake lands.
The "First Need" water filter is a pump that
forces the water through a ceramic filter
removing bacteria and most of the taste of
the natural lake water. It is a very
desirable tool for the wilderness, removing
the Giardia cysts so that we did not become
ill back in "God's Country". The water in
these lakes is brownish from the tannin that
is dissolved in it. The filter removes the
color, and leaves the water with a very
pleasant taste. When we got home I noticed
the bad taste of the river water that we
daily drink in Chattanooga.
The grounds of the "Outdoor Adventure
Outfitters" has 12 acres, and a dock with
some motor boats tied up along side. There
is an office building, a bath house, a main
dwelling, equipment building, the cook's
breakfast building, several cabins, and
parking areas. At 8:30 pm I had finished
packing for the morrow, and was sitting on
the dock. Shan was taking her bath. A light
zephyr wafted across the mirror calm surface
of the water. The temperature was about 70
degrees Fahrenheit and the mosquitoes were
not too plentiful at that hour. The sun slid
into the smooth surface of the water and I
returned to the cabin for a night's sleep.
We had driven 1437 miles and arrived without
incident. The Celica Toyota performed at its
best. We were tired and ready for the night.
I set the alarm clock in the cabin for an
early arising, but Shan was up even earlier
and had turned the alarm off. We dressed and
went to the dinning room for breakfast. A
young man named Cory was fixing pancakes for
our last meal in civilization. He was an
attractive young man from the University of
Indiana, at Bloomington. Doug Jordan the
owner of the operation taught band at that
University in the distant past. Each year he
advertises at the school for young worthies
to spend the summer in the wilderness
outfitting would-be Lewis and Clarkers, like
Shan and me.
The van was already loaded and after our
orange juice and pancakes we were carried
about 20 miles to the end of the road, and
the beginning of Lake One.
We were on the shore of the lake and on our
own at 8:00 am.. The sky was azure with fair
weather cummulus streaking the blue. The
land dropped away from the shore at a very
shallow angle, so that it was necessary to
wade the canoe out a ways. The equipment was
loaded and tied in to the thwarts so that it
would not spill were we to do the
unthinkable and tip the bottom of the canoe
to the sky.
I was feeling brash and climbed into the
rear of the canoe to do the steering. It was
about 50 degrees when we got up, but under
the sun the temperature rose to a high of 80
degrees. This would be the hottest weather
that we would see for over 10 days.
There were several other parties loading and
preparing for the wilderness. The spot where
we entered was undeveloped, as are all of
the features of the Boundary Waters Canoe
Country. The entry spot is about 30 yards
wide, and to the right side were patches of
water lilly with their floating leaves, and
white blossoms. We were putting into the
South Kawishiwi River. The flow of the river
is very slow, and our outbound trip will be
upstream, though it is impossible to tell
that there is a current.
Everything was lovely. Our 17 foot
Alumacraft canoe served us well. Cory had
selected an Alumacraft canoe because he felt
that it was the better canoe. The Grumman
may have a better reputation, but we were
very satisfied with his choice. One must
take good care of the canoe for it is the
primary means of getting into the wilderness
and to return.
We were taking about two paddle strokes to
move the length of the canoe (17'). There is
almost always a stiff breeze on the lake,
and it always seems to be blowing in your
face. We observed the other explorers as
they left the put-in area. Some of them
promptly took the wrong turn and ended up in
some distant cove with no outlet. Strong,
young men would pass us several times during
the course of a day. We were amazed how
little attention some of them seem to pay to
the charts. Shan watched each bend and turn,
and with a little head work we were able to
always go forward without having to retrace
our ways.
I must have asked Shan a thousand times if
she had any idea where we were, and should
we go to the left or the right of an island
or a shore before us. A thousand times she
would answer that she knew exactly where we
were at any given time. It was not that I
doubted her ability with a map, for she has
been interested in navigation and
orienteering for most of her life. I
remember when she was just a kid. She would
take a map and compass, locate some distant
point on the chart, shoot a compass reading
and head off through the heavily wooded area
of east Tennessee arriving at the desired
location and return. I was having more
trouble with the map. She was navigating by
dead-reckoning, and I was more informed
using the compass. She would say that as
long as we never lost our position we would
always know where we were.
The Boundary Water Canoe Area was located on
one river bank, and the other shore was
private property. Cabins were nestled in the
woods of the private side, with small piers
jutting into the waters. We came to one bend
and saw the last of civilization. It was an
Outfitter's place sitting among weeds and
grass on the left hand bank as we traveled
outbound. A small child sitting within a
screened-in porch called to us as we went
by.
There are a series of lakes with creative
names. We were now in Lake One heading for
Lake Two, Lake Three, and Lake Four. I
assumed that the man who named them had just
learned the skill of counting and applied
all of the numbers that he had learned to
the lakes. Very clever of him.
Lake One is a medium sized lake, and has the
general shape of a large fish swimming to
the southwest. We entered the Lake near the
tail of the fish and proceeded in a
southwesterly direction down to the head of
the fish and then back to the southeast. I
was steering the canoe from the rear, and
the "J" strokes that were needed to maintain
course were taking there toll on my
strength. In fact this was the last time
that I sat in the rear with one small
exception.
The lakes flow freely from one to another,
and there is no definite line where you can
say that the front of the canoe is in one
lake and the rear is just leaving another.
However, there are rapids that form a
distinct line between the two on some lakes.
You do not canoe the rapids, but portage
around them. When the Voyageurs were king of
this back country, buying furs and trading
trinkets with the Indians, they used these
same portages. The Indian in some misty past
had worn them with moccasin covered feet,
carrying their fragile birchbark canoes
around the rough waters. Today we use the
same paths around the dangerous water.
The chart that we are carrying is printed on
Textopaque, a plastic impregnated wood fibre
that sheds water like the proverbial 'duck's
back'. You can stick it into the water,
bring it out and shake it dry with a flip of
the wrist. These maps have a statement that
says, "This map is not intended for
navigational use, and is not represented to
be accurate in every respect." We were
working from map No. F-31 published by the
W.A. Fisher Company, Box 1107, Virginia,
Minnesota 56792. It also carries a statement
that the map has been "Reviewed for accuracy
by the Forest Service, U.S.D.A. - Revised
1993" so it is the most up-to-date map there
is for the wilderness. We would find that a
Portage might be in the wrong location or a
campsite could be misplaced. We were not
ultra critical of the chart since it served
our purpose very well. The scale on the map
is Three Inches = Two Miles. Thats a nice
scale for the type trip that we were doing.
They are in a 34' x 22' format, and fold
down very nicely to 5.5' x 8.5'. Printed on
the back in a bad brown color is an overview
of the entire lake system and the map
numbers that correspond to each area.
At the end of Lake One was just such a
portage. Portage distances are marked on the
chart. The portage from Lake One to Lake Two
is shown to be 30 rods. The rod is a
surveyor's measure of 16.5 feet, but it
happens to be almost the exact length of a
canoe. I learned to count six paces to the
rod when I was loaded with gear making a
crossing. These are not paved walkways, but
can be very rough, stony, and filled with
mud when the rains had recently fallen.
When we approached a portage we hoped there
were no other canoeists there. You try to
find a place where you can take out without
getting your feet in the water. The gear is
unlashed and lifted from the canoe. If it is
a very short portage one will carry the
front and one the rear of the canoe. When it
was a longer portage we would put the canoe,
which was fitted with a padded yoke, on Shan
or my shoulders and carry it across solo.
We always made two trips in order to get
everything across. On the other side a
discussion would develop as to the best spot
to set the canoe for loading. When the gear
was all loaded, and retied for security, we
would begin to paddle.
There is a very small body of water between
the first and second portage. It must not be
more than a few hundred rods across, and
then you are untying, and carrying your gear
across the second portage. That portage is
listed on the chart as being 40 rods across.
Once we were back in the water on the other
side of the second portage we were in Lake
Two. This Lake resembles a perched Eagle
sitting in the wilderness. Our direction of
travel was to the southeast across the
length of the Lake.
There were Bald Eagles flying over the water
on their morning fishing sorties. One dived
just above our heads. I had wanted to carry
a fishing pole with me, but Shan had many
convincing reasons why it was not a good
idea. The license cost $20.00, and that
spoke the loudest of any of the arguments. I
did not fish. We saw the Eagles dive toward
the water and carry their breakfast off in
their strong talons. Fish jumped around our
campsites, and on occasion we would get a
view of one of them in the air, returning to
the lake in a sharp splash.
At one portage we saw some men fishing at
the foot of the rapids. A young lad hooked a
pike that was about 14 inches long. He was
shouting like a Banshee for someone to come
with a net. The fish was pulled from the
water, and just short of his hand fell back
to freedom in the lake. It is the sore mouth
that I was sorry about, having just a few
days before had a tooth removed, and knowing
the difficulty of eating under such
circumstances. The mouth does heal more
rapidly than many parts of the body due to
the large amount of blood available to the
head.
Lake Three is oval shaped with the longest
axis pointing northeast by southwest. We
were sitting on our life preservers and this
threw our center of gravity a little higher
than I appreciated. Yet we were still low
enough in the water so that the lake's
surface appeared as a flat disc. We crossed
Lake Three, and entered Lake Four. Lake Four
is a very long and narrow lake with draws
and inlets tempting the hasty canoeist into
the dead end harbors.
The map showed a large passage between Lakes
Three and Four. There was another way around
but it was farther to the south and did not
appear as large an opening. As we approached
the point we discovered that it was a very
narrow choke point that was strewn with
large rocks. We decided to attempt the entry
into Lake Four from this point. It was so
narrow that I stepped out of the canoe onto
one of the rocks, and pulled it through. As
I reentered the canoe I heard a noise and
looked about 10 feet to my right and there
were about a dozen ducks feeding on the wild
rice. They would stretch up, take the seed
end and pull off the long black grains of
rice. They paid no attention to our passing.
We had been too busy to notice them at first
and they were too busy eating to worry about
us. They sure were cute little outfits
bobbing up and down on the water as they
were eating.
There were leaches in the water. One of them
attached itself to Shan's paddle, and would
not let go. They resemble a snail who left
home without his shell. This one was no more
than 1-1/2 inches long. Later on we saw them
at least six inches in length and one-half
inch in diameter. I bathed in the water and
Shan swam in it at times and we never did
get one of them attached to us. I would have
considered that a real horror.
About half way across this lake I began to
grow weary, and welcomed a stop that
Shandelle was recommending for the night. We
found a lovely campsite hidden by two
islands, and stopped there for the night. We
did not have a "Bear pole" and had to
arrange for ourselves. We found a sturdy
tree with a strong limb some 25 feet in the
air. I tied the end of the rope around a
fist sized rock and threw it until at last
it went over the limb. We had to have both
ends of the rope so I flipped a wave in my
end of the rope and the stone fell a few
inches. This was continued until I had both
ends securely in my hands.
Removing the rock, I tied the two ends
together and went to start a fire under the
U.S. Forest Service grate. The grate was
made of cast iron. It stood about a foot
tall, and the top was roughly 18 x 24" with
11 slits that let the heat and smoke out.
The three sides opposite the cooking side
were backed with large stones to keep the
wind away from the fire. I found some small
tinder an laid it across a piece of paper,
and then piled on fagots of larger and
larger sticks. The fire was lit with a
cigarette lighter that we had brought along
for that purpose.
I had so exhausted myself with the canoe,
the bear rope and building the fire that I
was not really very hungry. Shan was busy
with the small Swede gas stove getting
supper ready. We named this camp, "Bear Trap
Camp" because it gave us so much trouble
swinging the Duluth Pack full of food. It is
suggested that the bottom of the bag be at
least 12 feet off the ground, and that the
sides be no closer than six feet to the
nearest tree.
It was a full time job feeding the fire, for
there was no large wood or hardwood
available. A fire is something like a pet
for it must be fed or it will die. It gives
the appearance of life, and is a friendly
addition to any campsite. The wind and
clouds too have motion and the suggestion of
life, but they blow where they wish and when
they wish. The fire is a dependent life form
releasing energy that has been stored from
the sun and soil. There was no way to keep
the column of smoke from blowing across you,
and it was not long until you and your
clothes smelled like dried meat.
The sun was warming and brightening the camp
as we set up the tent and staked it to the
ground. The camp was about 10 feet above the
surface of the lake. The toilet was located
far back in the woods and did not have a
seat covering the pit. I took a plastic bag
and made a cover to to keep flies and
mosquitoes from coming to camp from the
toilet. The bag was held in place with three
sticks of wood to keep the winds from
removing it.
I had developed a special "heavy duty"
insect repellant before leaving home. It
contained a small portion of Tinactin
dissolved in Jergen's Hand Lotion, with an
ample supple of kerosene added. I half
expected it to ruin the skin. It worked as
well as any of the other commercial brands
of repellant.
Shan was a wonderful traveling companion.
Never a short word in the two weeks of ultra
close relationship in the car and in the
tent over night. There is nothing to improve
a nice trip like a pleasant and hard working
companion.
Supper consisted of camp stew made of 2
diced potatoes, 1/2 diced onion, 2 cubes of
bouillon, 1/4 pound of cheddar cheese, dried
corn, dried peas, dried carrots, and dried
vegetarian meaty stuff. Shan is a very
strict vegetarian, and I am the world's only
meat eating vegetarian. I do eat some meats,
but thoroughly subscribe to the principles
of vegetarianism. We ate around seven
o'clock. The flies had gone and the
mosquitoes had not come out as yet. This was
our time. Shan made KoolAde to wash the
foods down with. We had brought potatoes
double wrapped in aluminum foil. These I
slid over the fire and let bake while supper
was being prepared. They were delicious, but
we had more than we were able to eat. The
surplus was taken after each meal to the
woods and buried with the assistance of
Shan's backpack trowel. If they were pretty
dry foods we would burn them in our fire.
When it came time to do the dishes we
discovered that the cheese had been an
error, for the pans were almost impossible
to clean. We never did that again, even if
it was good. We located a Blueberry patch
near camp, making note of its location so we
could have fresh berries for breakfast. The
season seems to be a little late this year,
and the berries are not all ripe yet. They
resemble the Tennessee Blueberry or
Huckleberry as they were called when I was a
child in the woodland of my home state.
I went to the lake and took a skinny dip,
and washed my clothes, hanging them across
an improvised clothes line. I made clothes
pens by taking sticks about 1/2 inch in
diameter and 5 inches long, and split the
end for about one inch up. This we would
spread and attach the clothes to the line
with them. The clothes were mostly dry the
next morning.
We carried the 60 pound Duluth pack to the
Bear rope. We tied it to one side of the
rope and I then lifted it as high as I could
reach. Then with the help of a small pine
pole I pushed the pack higher into the air
as Shan took up the slack in the other end
of the rope. We had tied another rope to the
pack and thus were able to pull the pack
away from the trunk of the tree, and tie
them both off to other trees. It was hard
exhausting work, but each day as we ate more
of the food the Duluth pack became lighter,
and more of a pleasure to swing into the
air.
The fire had burned down to a bed of glowing
ashes, and by morning was completely dead.
I awoke during the dark night and listened
to the four calls of the loon. It is a weird
sound emanating from the darkness. I thought
of the centuries and millenniums that those
sounds have arisen in the dark of the night.
We went to bed just as the mosquitoes came
out. There was a general hum and roar in the
forest, and over the tent above us. They
were striking the exterior of the tent, and
it sounded as if drops of water were falling
upon us.
Breakfast call came early today. Shan had
gone into the island and picked from its
store of blueberries to go on our cereal. I
call all of this land an island, and that
they are in varying sizes. We ate Granola
made by Sovex, Inc. in Collegedale,
Tennessee. We added the Blueberries and
sliced up some banana, adding powdered milk
and water to finish a delightful meal. Hot
chocolate was the drink, and I was well over
fed.
The Wild Indian Strawberrys were ripe. It is
a small marble sized fruit that looks like
the ones we have in Tennessee. The Tennessee
variety has been out of season for a month.
We did not pick them but enjoyed seeing a
friend in the woods.
After breakfast I shaved and worked at
combing my hair. It is wild in a civilized
setting and totally unmanagable in the
wilderness. I wore a hat the first day out.
I am not used to having anything on my head,
and found it very hot and uncomfortable.
Shan helped me with a bandana headpiece, and
then laughed saying that I looked like the
pope with his crown. After a couple of days
the bandana began to bother me. It was
causing the hair above my forehead to be
held in a direction that it does not
normally go, and it ached across the
hairline.
We broke camp after doing the dishes and
repacking our things. Camping can get to be
very messy if one does not keep up with the
order as he goes. Finishing our traverse of
Lake Four we went around a fish shaped
projection of an island, and arrived at a
portage of 25 rods. This was our third
portage of the trip. It takes the better
part of an hour to unload, portage, and
reload the canoe at each stop. When we were
at a very short span of water between two
portages, I suggested that we might not need
to go to the trouble of tying the gear to
the canoe. Shan said that the probability
was the same on a short trip as it was on a
long one, and that settled that. If there is
anything that she knows about it is
probability. I did not broach the subject
again.
The fourth portage was across a small round,
unnamed lake across from portage three. The
little lake had an island near its center.
The scenery was breath taking, and the
temperature perfect. I was consuming about
three quarts of water a day, and most of it
was being excreted through the skin's pores.
My urine was a very dark yellow showing that
the kidneys were not getting an
adequate amount of water, so I drank more,
and still more. There was no burning or
stinging on urination. I must have been in
the early stages of dehydration. It kept
Shan pumping water and adding Kool Ade or
GatorAde to some of the drink. We were
taking a powerful vitamin each morning, and
were certainly getting our share of salt.
The dried beef that I brought to snack on
was very salty.
The distance to the fifth portage was very
short and we traversed it to enter Hudson
Lake. Now there is a name for you. We have
left the creative series of lakes names One,
Two, Three, and Four. This portage was only
10 rods across, but you still had to go
through all of the standard operations to
cross it. The portages were caused where the
Kawishiwi River narrowed down between lakes
and confronted the canoeist with a series of
rapids.
Hudson Lake is shaped like the moccasined
foot and leg of a fairy stepping across the
muskeg of the northland. It is a long narrow
lake that ended at portage No. six. Six was
105 rods long. It rose steeply from the
shore for about 30 yards, leveled off and
then descended on the other side. It was a
rocky and treacherous crossing. I had the
canoe on my shoulder and had just climbed up
from the water's edge when I slipped. My
entire thought was of not letting the canoe
hit the ground. At the last third of this
portage on the Insula Lake side someone has
attached a crudely carved canoe rest to a
large pine tree. You could walk up to it,
and place the front of the canoe on it
letting the back rest on the ground. This
was a bad portage and I dreaded it on our
return.
Having crossed the sixth portage we were now
in Lake Insula. This is a very large lake
strewn with rocky islands, that cut it up
into the appearance of many smaller lakes.
The temperature had been 72 degrees all day.
After entering Insula Lake we took camp on a
small island. There was only one campsite on
the island. We had the world to ourselves. I
would often wonder if the world was still
out there. Had the computer disappeared,
were there no racing automobiles on the
smooth man made stone slabs that we call
highways? Was it still there are were we
alone in creation? An occasional passing
canoeist would give us a subtle hint that
the world was still intact.
Shan insisted that we carry a lawn chair
into the wilderness. I found it a very
pleasant rudiment left over from
civilization. Other boaters would pass and
laugh at me sitting in camp in my lawn
chair. They would call something like, "It
doesn't take much to go first class." It was
about 4 pm. when we docked at our new
campsite. I busied myself getting the "Bear
Trap" set so bears would not deprive us of
our food in the night.
After camp was set up Shan took a swim and I
a bath. I washed my dirty clothes, hanging
them on the line to dry. I then moved my
chair out to a smooth ledge of rock
outcropping above the water's edge. A light
nylon windbreaker felt good once we stopped
working. I sat there reading from Thoreau's
book "Walden". Shan had carried it and a
Bible with us. Clouds were beginning to
streak the sky and we saw that the weather
was changing. We had just finished the
second beautiful day. It was now our turn
for some cloudy weather.
We saw several other adventurers mostly at
the portages. There were people from 75
years old to two and three. One man had
brought his dog and was requiring the dog to
carry a double pack across on his back. The
packs contained the dogs rations and
requirements for the trip. We saw some teen
aged boys whose father had required them to
come along on the trip. They were sullen, as
they went about their work crossing the
portages.
I drew the ashes of the fire to one side,
raked the remaininng fire into the center
and covered it with the ashes. When I was a
child we did this in the fireplace at night.
It is called 'banking the fire'. As I went
to bed I was suffering from a terrible
toothache. I took four aspirin and a
Fiornal, finaly going to sleep while it was
still hurting.
During the night a light rain fell on our
tent. We named this camp "Moose Camp", and
decided to stay here for several days. The
toilet has a lid and is far away through the
forest from camp. There are large boulders
that Shan can use to cook on. It is a good
location, except that there is very little
firewood. I removed the ashes from the
smouldering fire and with a little tinder
and some fagots of Squaw Wood soon had the
fire going. I took a long pine pole and used
it as a ram rod, going around knocking up
stumps and roots to use as fuel.
We had some clothes on the line but they
almost completely dried in spite of the
light rain. They were under the overhanging
branches of some trees and in full reach of
the wind. Being overcast it did not get as
cool as it was on Wednesday night.
To the north of the camp was a cove full of
water lilies growing and blooming. I could
see Shan walking on the far side. She was
off exploring the island. For breakfast she
prepared oatmeal with raisins, dates, brown
sugar, and hot chocolate with marshmallows.
We have been toasting some of the
marshmallows over the evening campfire. We
threw out as much of our breakfast as we
ate. I discovered that some of the things
like oatmeal would burn and not have to be
buried. Across the lake a forest of white
birch trees were swaying in the breeze.
There were some beech trees growing on our
island. They were more like shrubs than
trees, but it was always good to see
deciduous trees.
Shan came back into camp from her stroll
around the island. She had an arm load of
firewood and tales of Moose tracks as large
as small plates and droppings from where
they had stood and grazed among the water
lilies. On one of our walks around the
island I saw a small rose of some variety.
It had large 'rose hips'. I bit into one of
them and discovered that it was filled with
small seed inside a thin wall. It had no
particular taste.
Shan would spend time reading alone and
other times she would read to me from
Walden. We turned in tired after an active
day, and slept for about 10 hours.
Yes, I slept for 10 hours but it was not the
most restful of sleep. I was bothered with a
pounding heart and sleep Apnea. Shan would
shake me and tell me to reposition myself to
see if I might get to breathing regularly.
We arose to a lovely day. A more beautiful
and tranquil setting for the Sabbath could
scarcely be imagined. By 8 am. about a
quarter of the sky was clear and bright.
By 10 am. there were patches of blue sky
breaking through at intervals. It was a very
pleasant day. A pair of loons sat in the
water before our camp. Their heads sticking
above the water with their bodies lying low.
The heads looked like sculptured smoker's
pipes sticking out of the water. You can
canoe up fairly close to the loons before
they dive. You sit there for three or four
minutes waiting for them to surface. At long
last they come to the surface a hundred
yards from where they dove. If they do not
like the appearance of things they take a
single short breath and dive again. There is
something mysterious about these birds. They
give the impression of having an ancient
wisdom, and their cry in the night makes you
thankful to be tucked away in the tent.
Tensions began to drain out of my tired
body, and I could feel healing coming to my
entire being, both physical and spiritual.
There are no sounds except the occasional
distant sound of a voice, the splash of a
paddle or fish that jumped from the lake.
For lunch we had onion sandwiches. The food
pack is getting noticeably lighter. In the
afternoon I took a nap and arose to see that
the sky was mostly clear. I went to the
water's edge and washed some clothes,
including a white shirt (which was now
dingy) and a pair of trousers. I was wearing
my old country overalls.
In the soft morning sun light Shan slipped
the canoe into the water. It cast a mirror
image on the surface, since the wind had not
started blowing. She worked her way into a
distant cove. I could see her sitting there
when all at once she began to move her arms.
I thought that she was calling my attention
to something in the water near her or
lurking on the shore near by. I would strain
my eyes and look for all possibilities. At
times the waving was more pronounced than at
others. Then it dawned on me that see was
shooing away the morning flies.
When Shan returned she went Blueberry
picking and came back to camp announcing
that she was going to cook blueberry
pancakes. As she was cooking, she heard a
splash across the way and looked just in
time to see two twin moose step out of the
birchwood forest into the water. She called
for me to look. Then out came the mother. I
guess that she sent the young ones out in
case there was danger she could escape
unscathed. She stepped into the brownish
water, turning her brown-black side to us.
There she was ingesting large drafts of the
cool lake water and not giving us the time
of day. She continued along the shore
grazing from the tender shoots that grow
between earth and water. Then without alarm
or signal the three of them stepped back
into the forest and were lost to our sight.
The moose aims for food, and drink. His
shelter and clothes are the same every day
of the year. He owes nothing, living on
another's property without pay or
permission. He does not care who is in the
White House. He is neither Democrat nor
Republican. He is American by birth, and
does not care what the design, and stains
upon the flag may be. He is neither
capitalist nor communist. He is a willful
being, wandering across international
borders, eating and drinking where he
pleases, accepting direction from none and
giving none. He is his own government, he is
his own person. He is no patriot!
That is why this was called "Moose Camp".
The father was not along, and Shan says that
he does not stay with the family after the
calving season. Bull moose can stand 7 to 8
feet at the withers, with the neck and head
extending above that. They look front heavy,
as if they might fall over forwards in a
strong rear wind. Shan took pictures of them
in the water. By the time I got my camera
out of the pack and ready to go, they were
gone. I still took a picture of the spot
where they had been, with the thought that I
might draw the three on the surface of the
print, or was it just out of frustration?
I can assure you that this was the most
exciting thing that had happened, and a
portend of things to come. My thoughts
turned to them in another time. In the
short, grey days of winter. The insects have
gone, and the snows have come to replace
them. How do they occupy their time during
these hours, days and months? They do not
have computers to play games on or write
their adventures with. In winter they await
the coming of spring with all of the
patience of God's creation, except man. I
can imagine them on crisp, cold, clear,
moonlight nights holding their rituals of
survival. There they stand among the green
of moss, and leaf, the brown of trunk, and
duff upon the ground. No plow has ever
broken this sod. No human labor has sought
to wring wealth from this soil. The
ceremonies continue. The wind is eternally
singing songs in the tree tops that have
eluded the masters. It is a choir for the
woodland service.
With hot chocolate heated on the grate of
the fire we washed down the excellent
blueberry pancakes. It goes without saying
that there was always the chore of dishes
after a meal. I served my shift at that each
time we ate. The bottom of the pan had been
coated with soap so that the soot could the
more easily be washed away. It was my chore
to see that the water did not boil over and
remove the soap. I did an acceptable job.
I took a nap at 2 pm. and upon arising
discovered that the fire had burned out. I
built another and then went scurrying
through the forest in search of downed wood
and roots. We began to observe the winds,
clouds and weather that was developing
around us. You can see the results of our
labor in Chapter Five on Weather
Considerations.
We were told to "Take nothing but
photographs and to leave nothing but
footprints". They also talk in the
wilderness about "Leave no trace camping".
That is difficult for enough footprints will
make a trail, and erosion can then do its
thing to the land. Man is hard on nature by
his very presence.
For dinner Shan prepared Camp Stew again. It
contained fresh diced onions, a package of
dry vegetable soup, dried corn, dried peas,
dried carrots, dried glutin, rice and broth
cubes. We drank water and later roasted
marshmallows over the fire.
It rained all night and into the morning. It
was a very light rain, and at 12 o'clock we
decided to break camp and go back to Lake
Four. Its amazing how much action we brought
to the idea once we made the decision. We
had been listlessly walking around with no
sense of direction. Now we were moving with
a purpose. Man needs a purpose to life. I
believe that a lack of purpose is the cause
of many people's problems.
We broke camp, loaded the canoe, and started
back over the route that we had come just a
few days before. We crossed the 105 rod
portage. It is the one that I identified as
portage six. That put us back into Hudson
Lake. At the end of Hudson came the three
short portages, numbers five, four, and
three, thus back into Lake Four.
As we were working our way across the lakes
and portages, the sun had come out and the
temperature was about 75 degrees. We found
one of the most beautiful campsites that we
had seen, and I immediately named it 'Camp
Gnome'. It was truly a fairyland.
Someone had installed a bear pole so campers
could raise their food from the bears. It
has to be a very strong pole stretched
horizontally between two trees and securely
attached. All the camper has to do is to
throw his rope over and pull up the pack.
The campsite was located on a small
peninsula jutting out from the main island.
The width of the peninsula was about 30
yards across. We were camped in the center.
To the side of the camp there rose a
beautiful forest. The trees were large and
well spaced with the floor of the forest
covered by moss, lichen, and fern. It is a
damp, open forest that looked as if Snow
White and the seven dwarfs could not be far
away. I have a gnome like friend back home.
I expected to see him sitting upon on of the
boulders with Ms. White and the other six,
as I walked through this wonderland of pine,
fir, and hemlock. There are small Christmas
tree shaped hemlocks waist to shoulder high
scattered here and there through the
wonderland.
Large boulders are strewn among the trees.
They too are covered with moss, and lichen.
One of the stones stood about 10 feet tall,
coming to a point like the gables of a
house. I called it "Sanctuary Rock". Trails
fanned out through the forest, with one
terminating at the toilet.
Just after we got the tent up it began to
rain. We had prayed and hoped for a nice day
and we had had one. All life proceeds on
hope. Were it not for hope we would throw
ourselves upon the wave and perish. Hope
continues to tell us that the best is yet
before us. I went into the tent to escape
the rainfall. I blew up the air mattress and
lay writing of the adventures and beauty of
the woodland.
It was raining and windy in the night. When
we awoke from the night's sleep the sky gave
promise of clearing. Spots of blue began to
show through only to have the clouds and
wind zip the hole shut again, later in the
morning.
We had a breakfast of oatmeal, and hot
chocolate. In the oatmeal, Shan had put
dried apples, raisins, dates, and brown
sugar. We started a potato baking on the
grate above the fire. By noon the potato was
cooked to a dry mealy consistency that Shan
said she liked so much. I tended the fire
all day with wet stumps and fagots of
smaller wood. I am a regular smoke magnet. I
moved all day long from one side of the fire
to the other, and the smoke would follow me.
There is something about smoke following
beauty, and I was a beauty there in the
wilderness!!!
Shan was busy 'documenting our trip' with
film just as I was doing with words. The
camera was thrust into my face at every
turn, and I was often reprimanded in gentle
tones for not taking more photographs with
my camera.
The Northern Pike were jumping, slashing,
and feeding off the point of our peninsula.
At one point seven ducks floated by in an
armada close enough that we could have
reached out and brought them into camp. Shan
fed the screaming gulls more of our bread
than I ate on the entire trip. The gull can
jump into the air from the surface of the
lake. Most of the waterfoul take a long,
flapping run across the water to get
airborne.
After a nice rest I came from the tent to
meet with all of Shan's enthusiasm. She told
me to help her bring the canoe from the
shore into camp. She then lashed a paddle
between two trees horizontally across, and
about breast high. The canoe was turned
bottom up and one end set on the paddle. She
put my lawn chair under the high end and the
flotation cushions further back to form a
seat for her. When the light rains would
come we would scurry for shelter under the
canoe. She was very proud of this
convenience.
A party of noisy youth moved into a campsite
across the way from us. I looked over to
Shan and said, "Do you remember the song,
'WHEN YOU COME TO THE END OF A PERFECT DAY'.
Well, we have just seen the end of ours.!"
By bedtime there came a gentle rain and we
made our way into the tent for the night. I
was suffering from a tooth ache, but soon
dropped off to sleep. I have a wonderful
pain reliever in sleep. This night was to be
the highlight of our entire trip, but I will
save that for tomorrow's tale.
A light rain had run us to bed a little
earlier than usual last night. The wind lay
for one of the few times that we were up
there. In the silence you could hear the
waters of the Kawishiwi River falling over
the rapids and into Lake Four. I was
sleeping lightly because of an aching tooth.
It was 11:30 pm. when I heard a noise. I
awoke Shan and said, is that noise you
breathing? We listened! It was a low cow
type noise. Then we heard a very large
animal walking in the water just at the head
of our tent.
We took the flashlight and stepped into the
calm night. By the water's edge at the foot
of our tent we could see a large hole in the
clouds. The Big Dipper and Polaris were
looking through. I picked up a fist sized
stone, and Shan got the cookset to beat
retreat for what we thought was a bear. I
called into the black, "Get out of here."
From very near where we were standing came a
very loud and heavy breathing sound. It was
as if you shaped the mouth to say 'foo' and
then blew out a very heavy, sustained
breath. It had the quality of Paul Bunyon
sleeping on his back. The sound went on for
several minutes.
We turned the flashlight on and in that
direction, but could see nothing because of
some brush that stood between us and the
noise. The heavy breathing continued.
"Should I hit him with this rock?", I asked
Shan. "No hold it!", she responded. At last
we could see something in the water at the
foot of the rock where we were standing.
Turning the light on and in that direction
we saw something about four feet long
swimming in the water. "Its a snake!", Shan
said grabbing my arm. It was a wonderful
swimmer, not disturbing the water
excessively as it moved from our left to
right. We had stepped back on the stone, and
the thing began to come out of the water
just about where we had been standing. It
rested there for a couple of seconds, and
went back in the water. All this time it was
continuing the heavy breathing.
It went around the point and to the area
where we heard the first noises coming from.
We went back into the tent and heard the
mother moose slog off through the water with
her calf. We had been standing between a
mother moose and her baby and had lived to
tell about it. The moose is a good swimmer.
He goes through the water with just the top
of the head showing from the water, and
breathing out long noisy blows of air. It
was not a bear, or an ancient lake monster,
or even an otter. It was the most treasured
of all, the moose. We were within a couple
yards of the beast and escaped unscathed. It
was a marvelous night experience, and one
that we do not wish to duplicate. The moose
with her offspring can be a very treacherous
animal. Very dangerous!
Sleep was slow coming. We could hear the
sound of small feet around the tent, and
thought of our little friend the chipmunk.
He lives in a hole at the base of a pine
tree in camp. We dare not call him a visitor
to our camp, but rather us an uninvited
guest at his home. His needs are few, water
being the least of them. His visits to the
doctor are few and taxes nonexistent. He
gets a benevolent handout from time to time
by a sympathetic camper, and that rounds out
his needs.
Nature has such simple ways. At our last
camp there was a yellow jacket type bee that
built a nest in the ground. He built a
volcano shaped cone about the entrance with
the earth that was being removed from the
apartment below. Shan lined around the area
with rock to protect his work from the
sightless step of man. She looked in on his
progress from time to time. When it came
bedtime for the little insect, he would go
in and block the opening with a plug of damp
earth. Shan took photos of his open house
and the closed one.
We had brought two bottles of fuel for the
cookstove. We just finished the smaller of
the two this morning. For breakfast we had
toast with peanut butter, and strawberry
jam, grits and brown sugar. We had hot
chocolate for our drink. After doing the
dishes, shaving, combing and cleaning as
best we could, we broke camp and headed for
Lake One.
We went through Portages Two and One and
were back into Lake One. there we began the
search for a camp for the last night of our
wilderness journey. This had been Shan's
29th birthday. Shame, but I forgot it. It
was the best day that we had.
Here at Camp Birch, as we called it, there
was a bear pole in place and the Duluth pack
was growing lighter by the day. I brought
two pairs of shoes into the wilderness. One
was a rather new pair of inexpensive
loafers. The other was a trusty pair of
shoes that I bought about 1986. They were
black and had steel protected toes. They
served several years at Starkey Printing
Company when I was doing estimating. They
had crepe soles. I do not like soft soles
for standing, but they are alright for a
sitting job. After I retired them from
service they became lawn mowing shoes. They
served well on this trip. The strings had
broken several times and had been tied in
several places.
At Camp Birch I had a difficult time getting
a fire started. I could find no dry tinder
or small dry twigs. At last in a very solemn
ceremony I burned my shoes. That gave the
fire the needed impetus and we had no
problem keeping it going. This was a symbol
that we were leaving the wilderness on the
morrow. Everything burned except the steel
toes. I brought them back home as souvenirs
of the wilderness days.
I sat watching the shoes burn. I was
thinking of the deeds both good and bad that
they carried me on. I can not blame them for
taking me on the poor journeys more than I
would credit them a part of the good that
they were party to. While the shoes were
burning Shan changed into her swim suit and
sat on the edge of the lake dipping a toe
into the water that remembered last winter,
and was dreaming of the next. She looked
like a lonesome mermaid contemplating the
future on the margin of the brine. At last
summoning all her courage she made the
plunge into the water with the leaches,
turtles, crayfish and other creatures. She
did not swim long.
We ran a clothes line in each camp and would
open the sleeping bags and hang them across
the rope to the benefit of the sun and air.
The weather did not always permit. At one
location as we were paddling out of the
wilderness we passed a campsite where they
were trying to dry their sleeping bags. The
plastic bags that they used for covers were
on the outside of the sleeve, and had gotten
snagged and then the bags were wet by the
rain. It would have been difficult to dry
the bags in the weather that we were having
and very uncomfortable to sleep in them wet.
I contemplated this region when the blast of
winter was upon it. Great leas of snow
supported by two feet of ice or more. The
bear, moose, and wolf are no longer
restricted by the water, but can now roam
from island to island without swimming. This
rhythm has continued for millennia, and will
go on until the lakes are overgrown by
vegetation, and have become muskegs and peat
swamps. Sometime later the descending
glaciers will again scoop out fresh water
lakes and the process will be repeated.
The process is as natural as the rising and
the setting of the sun. Only the frequency
of its period is longer. Man is rooted to
this planet with an umbilical cord planted
in the soil. When he goes forth to visit the
moon he must remain attached to the soil of
earth. He must carry his life support system
with him throughout the universe.
There is an irresistible urge in mankind to
carve their names on things. Some have them
on marble slabs, monuments, the morning
paper, or the log that forms the seat around
the campfire. The motive is the same, to
remind other that they were there. I
remember reading Count Felix Von Luckner's
memoirs of his service in World War One. He
captured an enemy merchant ship, and had
transferred the people and what they needed
of the supplies to his ship. He then went
aboard with a prize crew. When he was alone
he went to a handrail on one of the decks,
and found his name carved there from when he
had sailed that very ship before the war.
There is an old saying, "Fool's names and
fool's faces are always found in public
places." Sorry about that Mr. Bill Clinton!
It rained in the night and was still raining
when we awoke. This was the day that we were
to leave the wilderness. The rain stopped
and we got up and quickly broke camp. It did
not rain any morethat day. We loaded the
canoe and paddled the short distance to the
'Take-Out Point' there on Lake One. It was
no more than an hour's work to get back to
that spot. We got out and piled our things
to the side so as not to be in another's
way.
The outfitter sent Cory back to get us and
we were in Civilization again.
INTRODUCTION
* AIR
* NOISE
* MIND
* SOIL
* SPACE
Rocket Debris,
Etc..
CHAPTER ONE
A TRIP TO THE NORTHWOODS
Any trip that takes one away from his main
base of operation is best carried on under
the supervision of a good Checklist. I have
always made them for my trips. The one below
was developed with the assistance of
Shandelle Marie Henson for this trip.
CANOE TRIP
Master Checklist
FOODS ( Break down into daily menus)
MEDICINE
CLOTHES
GENERAL
INDIVIDUAL
To the land of 10,000 Lakes
Friday, July 16, 1993
Sunday, July 18, 1993
Monday, July 19, 1993
Tuesday, July 20, 1993
AUF WIEDERSEHN! CIVILIZATION
CHAPTER THREE
THE WILDERNESS INCURSION
Wednesday, July 21, 1993
Thursday, July 22, 1993
Friday, July 23, 1993
Saturday, July 24, 1993
Sunday, July 25, 1993
Monday, July 26, 1993
Tuesday, July 27, 1993
Wednesday, July 28, 1993
END