I awoke refreshed the following morning and as I reclined on a lakeside rock to sip my hot cup of steaming coffee a conservation officer pulled his canoe up to my campsite to warn me. He said a large woman who looked like her hair had been cut with a chainsaw was violently attacked by a suspected cougar in the middle of the night. I told him that was awful and that I'd be sure to keep a sharp eye out as I reached behind me to zip my tent closed lest he should see Whitey licking the now dried blood off his claws.
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This trip...together...
- Thread starter Odyssey
- Start date
But alas the CO saw the cat... and the cat saw the CO.. The CO attempted to grab the pussy but....it had a compadre a fisher. bunking with it
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The CO jumped back and then demanded to see my fisher license. I let him know that was a Marten not a fisher and further more they were always pulling stunts like this.With the excitement the Marten fled the scene. The CO had spotted the blood and proceeded to pull back the top of the bag exposing even more blood. Suddenly the Marten burst in through a freshly chewed hole in the foot of the tent. With one hop it landed by sleeping tripping cat and burrowed deep into the sleeping bag. With great effort it came backing ot of the bag dragging half of a Snowshoe Hare and spilling even more blood. Off it went dragging the hare between the CO's feet. Wanting to cease the moment to get out of my jam I quickly offered the CO a cup of coffee. He mumbled something about too much paperwork already and trotted to his canoe and left leaving a pretty big wake.
(Loosely based on two true stories.)
(Loosely based on two true stories.)
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Seeking peace and solitude ( and wishing to put some miles between me and that neighbour's wife) I tossed all my gear into the canoe, loosed some line and trolled my way across the lake. I remembered a lost trail between those hills yonder, and wondered where exactly it might lead me.
And then the headwind hit!!!!
I let the wind take me, as I drifted into the lee of an island. A sudden breath of pine scent tickled my nose and I thought about plans my friend told me recently, about outfitting and guiding for the summer. I had been intrigued until he explained excitedly how there were lots of southern "urban cowboys" with lots of money to burn, who would jump at the chance to experience a northern slice of life, paddling hard across tossing seas, hauling heavy loads over tangled trails, and dancing gaily around the fire every night. Visions of the dancing part made me a little uncomfortable I must admit. I've heard my friend has some experience of that nature too. He told me he could supply all the necessary equipment; canoes, packs, paddles, tents and sleeping bags. But does he have the special chaps too I wondered?
(Also based on a true story, however weirdly suspect it seems.)
(Also based on a true story, however weirdly suspect it seems.)
Afterr a snack I fought the headwind to the far shore. Before the events of the last 24 hours I had no intention of seeking that lost portage. Now it was all I could think about. No way was I closing my eyes to sleep on this lake with the bloodied and sheared hair thing still out there. An old blaze marked the old trail but fallen trees made it impassable. Happy that I always trip with a chainsaw I got ready to clear a way off the lake before dark. Time was running out and the saw chain was siezed with black hair.
But hark.. lo from the water emerged a goddess bearing a Bud Lite! I put down the chainsaw and seized the mer.. er Bud Lite.
As I scrambled for the Bud Lite, I slipped on the wet mud left from the Merwoman, falling squarely on my tookus, destroying the only pair of pants I had. But wait, I still had my chainsaw chaps! Stripping out of my muddy pants, I laced on the chaps, arse-less though they might be, I was ready to cut the port before dark. It was then that I heard the faint but heart stopping sound of.....banjo music.
~~Alan, at some point this coming June, Mem will regale the outers kids late one night at the fire with this tale in the hopes of kindling some fear into them, and the following day he will have some dark haired woman with a stuffed white cat attached to her face hiding along a portage to enhance the tale ~~
Oh, what did I really just see. Did I really hear that banjo?I broke out into a cold sweat and my knees were ready to buckle when a little reason returned to my spinning thoughts. This could not really be happening, could it? Realizing I had not been hydrating since rushing out of camp in the morning I dipped my bottle into the lake. As I raised it I was reminded why I had not been drinking. Black hairs swirled thickly in the water I needed so badly.
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That's when I notice the thick mat of hair on the lake and my canoe.
At this point, I was wondering about that chaga I had found earlier. I had boiled it up and drank it, but could I have mistakenly boiled up some other kind of hallucinogenic fungi? Hair, hair everywhere, and no scissors to be found! However, fear is for the weak, so I slammed one barrel on my back and threw another on top of it, and took off on the port, busting through and over windfall, trying to leave the cursed banjo strumming and hair behind.
The light of the full moon splintered through the trees, hinting at water as I neared the end of the port. As I staggered panting and bleeding to the water, the moon fell full on a flat elevated rock, and woe to my eyes, a hillbilly with a big head and a banjo was sitting on a rocking chair, fingers flying like Satan himself was playing.
I instantly broke out into a fear sweat, with visions of Ned Beatty rolling around in the mud in his tighty whiteys. Suddenly, I realized my arse-less chainsaw chaps were probably a mistake.
The bushes began to rattle around me, and I was sure a hive of hillbillies was about to descend on me. I fell to my knees, crying to the heavens for help. I lighting bolt split the sky, and suddenly Ozzy Osbourne was standing on the rock beside the hillbilly, beating him with a flying V. The banjo shattered and a puff of purple smoke covered the whole area, taking hillbilly's, hair and banjo's back to the hell they had come from. Ozzy stood, profiled in the moonlight like a Celtic God of old.
My big old white cat came bursting through the bush and leapt into Ozzy's arms. Ozzy smiled, waved at me, and disappeared.
All was quiet, except for the warble of a loon in the distance. dang, this was turning into an epic trip!
The light of the full moon splintered through the trees, hinting at water as I neared the end of the port. As I staggered panting and bleeding to the water, the moon fell full on a flat elevated rock, and woe to my eyes, a hillbilly with a big head and a banjo was sitting on a rocking chair, fingers flying like Satan himself was playing.
I instantly broke out into a fear sweat, with visions of Ned Beatty rolling around in the mud in his tighty whiteys. Suddenly, I realized my arse-less chainsaw chaps were probably a mistake.
The bushes began to rattle around me, and I was sure a hive of hillbillies was about to descend on me. I fell to my knees, crying to the heavens for help. I lighting bolt split the sky, and suddenly Ozzy Osbourne was standing on the rock beside the hillbilly, beating him with a flying V. The banjo shattered and a puff of purple smoke covered the whole area, taking hillbilly's, hair and banjo's back to the hell they had come from. Ozzy stood, profiled in the moonlight like a Celtic God of old.
My big old white cat came bursting through the bush and leapt into Ozzy's arms. Ozzy smiled, waved at me, and disappeared.
All was quiet, except for the warble of a loon in the distance. dang, this was turning into an epic trip!
And I started to go to sleep I heard Ozzy's voice ringing from the hillside you NEVER BOIL CHAGA!
O man.. I am hallucinating... Chaga grows on.. ok that was a cherry tree I got it from.. I am giddy.. the visions dance..can't breathe..
http://www.notastelikehome.org/chaga.php
http://www.notastelikehome.org/chaga.php
The sun was well up in the sky when I awoke out of my stupor. With the horrendous throbbing pain between my ears its a wonder any sleep came at all. Worse yet I had passed out sprawled out on the rock with my bare buttocks exposed and it felt like every blood sucking insect for three kilometers had dined well during the night. Hours of bright sun then seared the skin to a bright pink. Time to try that kneeling paddling they bring up all the time on the forums.
With a sensitive stomach, and an even more sensitive backside, I managed to put a couple miles behind me before finding a quiet little bay out of the wind. The wind had in fact been picking up steadily all morning, and as I dipped my cup I watched as a dark bank of cloud grew larger and blacker as it crept closer. Would I have time to get to the other end of this lake? I didn't see any clearings along this shoreline to offer an escape from the approaching storm. I didn't fancy my chances crawling dragging my way through the thicket of Alders along the shore, only having to cut out a clearing in the impenetrable Black Spruce cladding these slopes. You know, if I bent my back to it, I might be able to beat that wind and rain; and so I dug my paddle deep and fast, full of confidence now with every stroke. It felt good to feel my muscles warm under the work. I remember smiling as the first few drops spattered my gear and clothing. The lake surface calmed just before it sprang up in a crazy dance of jumping rain, and so I laughed out loud, welcoming all that nature could reveal to me. And then suddenly a searing bright flash blinded me momentarily, and a guttural growl of thunder rumbled overhead.
Just then the Mermaid appeared and asked What-the-hell-are-you-on-the-water-in-this-storm? She grabbed my painter and towed me thru the storm to a campsite.
She started to leave but turned back and with a voice like thunder shouted "NO MORE BUD LITE FOR YOU!"
She started to leave but turned back and with a voice like thunder shouted "NO MORE BUD LITE FOR YOU!"
Wow!! I hope I am really seeing this. This is not a campsite but an old trappers cabin. The door is securely fastened but not locked so I unlatch it and push it open. Some papers in a hanging metal basket show dates from the 1970's. It does not look too bad for having sat unused for that long. I am soaking wet and getting chilled so I crumple some of the papers and add some small pieces from the wood box. There are probably matches somewhere but the Bic lighter in my fanny pack is quicker. The fuel is very dry and flares up quickly. Smoke billows out the stove door so I race outside to check for a chimney cap. A heavy metal bucket is easily lifted off the top of the stovepipe with a long pole stored on wooden pegs under the eave. Smoke rises from the pipe and I grab a few packs from the canoe on the way back inside. I leave the door open so the smoke can clear quickly from inside the cabin. A padded rocking chair is sitting up on a metal bucket to keep the mice from it but I put it close to the wood stove and sit back to ponder this new situation
