Old Friend

     Pulled my tent outside today.  It hasn't seen the sun in five years.  I considered slathering it in sunscreen but couldn't find any.  All told the Eureka! is fourteen years old.  Old enough to be suffering signs of old age, holes, mold, rot and arthritis.  But she was just fine.  Even the patch I'd put on the fly a decade ago was pristine.  Well, as pristine as a repair job can be.
     It erected easily and brought back memories just as easily.  Setting it up on the last day of our fourteen day 2002 trip was a challenge.  We'd spent most of the day paddling into a stiff headwind.  Finally bagged it after seeing what was ahead, eight or more miles of roaring three footers.  While Allan cooked the last of our food I set up the tent.  The two of us couldn't have handled any more.  We crawled into the bags around six o'clock that evening and slept for nearly eleven hours.
     Inside I was overcome by the stale tent smell that means wilderness to me as much as sun on spruce.  Made me want to curl up and close my eyes for a couple of minutes.  Top that with finding a Canadian one dollar Looney on the floor along with four rubber bans.  Oh yeah.

Paddle Done

     Four coats of spar varnish on the shaft, six on the blade.  Pretty-pretty.  Need to take and post pictures.  Not easy for the tech challenged.

Canoe Paddle V

     It sure takes a lot of sanding to remove an eighth of an inch of ash from a paddle blade.  How much I'll never know.  After a couple of hours with the random orbital sander I bit the bullet and pulled out the planer once again.  To say I babied the operation is no exaggeration.  Two minutes of care did most of the job.  Out came the sander once more and smoothed out all the jagged edges.  A hand touch up with 150 grit got the blade ready for a wetting and final sanding using 220 grit.
     This morning the entire paddle was wiped down with tack cloth and given its first coat of spar varnish thinned with mineral spirits.  A second coat was applied this afternoon.  Four more uncut coats applied one per day ought to do the job.  Finally I'll take it to the Boundary Waters and beat the hell out of it.  Or maybe hang it on a wall where I can admire it and imagine where the paddle might have taken me.

Gear in the Basement

     Hauled the packs out of the attic and dumped them in the basement where it can be spread out.  Clear out the nesting critters, air out the stink, check the tent and we're ready to go.  Maybe not yet.  Looks like the date is 9/11.  Interesting.  It's been five years since the gear saw the light of day.  Can't say I remember what all was in those packs.  Should be fun saying hi to all the old stuff.
     Last night I reserved a permit for Clearwater Lake.  Not the entry I was hoping for but the other filled some time ago.  No problem.  We'll still see the same sights except in reverse.  Maybe we should paddle backwards?  Got me thinking of why I wanted to paddle East Pike Lake again.  Seemed I'd just done it a few years ago, that is if sixteen qualifies as a few.  Closer to quite a few.
     Brian and I were in the Boundary Waters together back in the mid '90s.  There were six of us on a day trip and we caught a few smallmouth bass on silver spinners.  He was the one hollering "It's a shark! It's a shark!" when he had a big bass on the line.  Good time.  This time it'll be only the two of us.  Of the group the one I'll miss most is my son Allan.  Gotta keep myself alive and fit for a few more years so I can accompany Al and his son Matthew on a canoe trip and sleep in the woods.

Rain on the Shoulder

     Coming down in buckets outside.  Not a problem since I wasn't going anywhere for a while.  Could be I've been conditioned over the years to feel cooped up when it's raining.  There's books and keyboard to pass the time.  If I was home there'd be stuff to do around the house.  Maybe even pull down the packs to see if the gear is still boonies-worthy. All kinds of activities to pass the time.  Oh yeah, I could go out to the garage and work on the paddle.  Then meditate, clean my soul and change the world.  Skip the last one, I'd be better off making a couple of peanut butter sandwiches for lunch.

     Days like this bring to mind being windbound or going through a soaking with gear bobbing on the tent floor as a rivulet passes underneath.  I've only been through a combination of high winds and rain on a couple of occasions.  We didn't die but it sure crimped our style.  And learned a lot.  When the times call for staying put, stay put even when everything inside the brain is screaming, "Oh crap!  I've been waiting a year for this?"  When the world gives you lemons say, " Oh look, lemons.  What the hell did life give me lemons for?  And just think of the carbon footprint.  Are they certified organic?  Grown in the USA or halfway around the planet?  Maybe next time life can just give me lemonade and cut out the middle man."

Waiting

     Sittin' here like a wallflower waiting for dates for a Boundary Waters trip.  It'd sure be nice to write a few words about wilderness canoe fishing considering that's what this blog is supposed to be about.  Yup, just checked the title.  Got the canoe and the gear just need the wilderness.

Canoe Paddle IV

     Slowly it got slimmer and lighter as I ground down a thousandth of an inch at a time.  Never done one the right way before so as I come closer to the finished blade I turn chicken, afraid I'll to go too far and grind the blade so thin it'd be transparent.  Extraordinarily light but totally useless.  Maybe go so far as to zen it into nothing but sawdust.  I'd hang the nothingness on the wall with a blank sign beneath and over the years, pause occasionally to admire the purity of my handiwork.
     On the other hand the thought occasionally strikes me I could buy a new ash paddle for a little over a hundred bucks.  At the moment I've got ten in sand paper, varnish and electricity.  When the paddle's done I'll have been paying myself about four to five bucks an hour for something I don't really need.  In the tech age handcrafting doesn't pay well.  Head to an art fair and ask any of them how much they make per hour. You'll get a fair amount of laughter in response followed by, "I love what I do but still have my day job." Maybe I'll keep making paddles simply to see if I can get faster or even better and then give them away to people who need one even less than I?  The idea of pulling up to a busy intersection and handing a homeless guy a hardwood paddle has its appeal.
     On the water the other day my son Allan came up with a good idea.  I'd been blithering about putting some form of decoration on my paddle.  Not an easy thing to do seeing as how I lack decorating talent in spades.  He simply said, "Ruler."  I responded with a blank stare and a "Pardon?"  I say that a lot and it means I didn't understand and would like the statement repeated slowly, loudly and clearly.  His idea was to put a measuring device on the blade and handle.  Many's the time we've used a paddle blade to estimate the length of a fish.  Actually inscribing a ruler on a paddle is both a practical and great idea.  So that's the plan.