Packing

     What did I forget? Seems I always forget something. There's nothing left on the floor except the rug so I must have everything. Most is in the truck though the frozen stuff can't be packed till the gray of Wednesday morning. We've managed to pare the stuff down to three packs, each in the forty-five to fifty pound range though they feel a whole lot more. I've got the bug in me to save an hour or more by doing the three-quarter mile portage though the paddle down Pine Creek makes more sense. My seventy-two year old back says I'm crazy to even think of a long portage and my only answer is, "No shit."
     The forecast is for a slight chance of rain on three of the days, highs around eighty and a fair amount of humidity. No doubt we'll sweat so I'm leaving the long-johns and gloves at home. Honestly, I'd rather have it be fifteen or twenty degrees colder so the sleeping bag feels good at night. Makes me recall the trip of 2000 and night time temperatures hovering around freezing. Misery makes for a good story so I shouldn't complain. As usual Mother Nature will call the shots.

Broken Canoe Fixed (I Hope)

     I've had the Kevlar Wenonah for seventeen years. Bought it at an overstock sale for a trip that didn't cooperate. My son Allan and I were as ready as ready could be, light gear, lots of food and the thrill of a ten mile lake crossing followed by a four mile portage waiting up in northwest Manitoba. That day we learned it's possible for a fifty thousand acre lake to be frozen solid in early June when you're five hundred miles north of the border. Oh well, we had a plan B that provided two weeks of the best fishing we'd ever had.

     The canoe was exactly what I was looking for, light weight and formed from leftover patches at the factory. Only problem was it didn't have a carry yoke. Not a problem. I fashioned one from ash, broke it on the first trip and never replaced it. Over the years the boat suffered from not having a center thwart and an eighth of a ton Iowan bouncing around up front. First the aircraft aluminum seat frame snapped and I rebuilt it from ash and added cane seating. Last year one of the aluminum gunwales split. Not good. Earlier this spring I braced the split with a pair of heavy duty straps bolted in place and yesterday reinstalled the center thwart a tad behind center to allow the use of a clamp on carry yoke. She's a jury-rigged joy to behold and ready for Brian and my trip next Wednesday. Took me seventeen years to do what I should have done on day one. For me that's a little ahead of normal.

Old Man Shows Glimmer of Wisdom

     Yup, I've gone and done it, asked for help from a complete stranger. Our Boundary Waters trip narrowed to one choice today when I found the name and e-mail address of a man who'll cart us across big Lake Vermilion to the portage into Trout Lake. There was a time not so long ago when I'd have hammered the miles one way or the other and then I recalled Allan and my first two week trip in Manitoba. We made it one mile the first day and nearly sank on the way. Big waves on big water make canoes seem real little. Anyhow, seventy-five bucks will nearly eliminate the possibility of being windbound. I've already done that enough for one lifetime.
     If this was twenty-five years ago I'd be envisioning big fish and lots of them. These days I'm hoping for a meal or two and decent weather (no broken bones would also be nice). Seeing as how Lonnie Johnson—our tow man— heads the Guide Association on Vermilion and specializes on fishing Trout Lake maybe I'll pump him for some fishing ideas?

Old Man's Back Strikes Again

     Yesterday I was sitting in a chair checking out my reels when my back spasmed and went south in a hurry—third time in the last six months. It could be the way I'm built, the abuse I've put my body through over the decades or maybe even the result of Lyme disease. Most likely I'm simply wearing out. It didn't take but a few minutes to say bye-bye canoe trip. When I woke this morning I was in a serious funk about reaching the end of my wilderness road.
     However, I kept hitting my head against the 'never again' wall till a couple of options spilled from my brain. Spoke with Brian and we agreed there'd be no more long portages in our future. That led us to the possibility of paddling three miles farther north on Trout Lake to a navigable creek that'd take us to Pine Lake and it's wonderful fishing. Or—plan B—head to another entry point and take the Moose River south into Big Moose Lake and it's wonderful fishing. Both routes call for only a couple of short carries unless the beavers have been busy.
     Crossing big Lake Vermilion to reach the Trout Lake portage had me concerned from the get-go. If the wind was up we'd be sitting on the shore watching the waves roll by. The solution was to also reserve the entry to Big Moose. If the forecast calls for wind we'll head up the Moose River. If not, we'll cross Vermilion. Anyhow, we now have two permits for the same day.