My mind starts to wonder when I know there isn’t much water left to paddle through. It’s been a nice dry two and half days with three good friends. We’ve come here frequently over the past ten years; partially because it’s an easy stretch of water, quick for all of us to get to, and between us, some fun and fond memories’. And we made some more this trip that’s for sure.
We think we’re pretty good at this water and woods stuff but every once in a while we get the top of the canoe where the bottom should be, and it reminds us all that during any given moment, things can sure change in a hurry.
That hurry, is why we slow down and paddle are way in, and then paddle our way out. Gives us all time to think. And I think about all those that have paddled here before us, and I certainly hope there are many more who will ply this liquid history in the future.
I have my own odd thoughts, I get even close to the historic petroglyphs and it makes me laugh, that over time, sometimes, nothing really changes, they had graffiti back then, we just change the name of the art on rock’s, and it becomes something to see, it’s a perspective issue.
As a collective, When this foursome gets together, we don’t discuss life issues for some odd reason, the kids the bills and all those other worldly agenda items’ don’t make it into our mental Duluth packs, but we do talk about blue skies and water, the sounds and the scents of everything from wood smoke to how the morning air in our opinion always smells so much better than the afternoon air.
How come so many rocks can have so little color as if they could only be a penitent gray or starkly black. Birds, sure we typically hear loons, they are loud day or night, and every other fowl, especially eagles float over us, maybe chirp abit, while gulls look like white dish rags with a proper wind and never seem to make at least a screech when were here.
Jokers each, We, us, this four of kind, in not quite a full house, could sing a praise song of how amazing coffee smells, how bacon smells, what fried walleye fillets taste like hot out of two day old used oil or cold leftovers hours later.
It’s not legally summer, it’s been plenty warm, yet each one of us, has a wool shirt packed. They each packed their own ruck, just like I packed my own and well, here come’s the shore, the take out, So I’ll be done paddling in just a few more strokes of the blade, and suddenly have another of my own thoughts, I think like them, they think like me. The trout whisperer